


A Blessing in Disguise

by alikuu



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bard x Thranduil, Barduil - Freeform, Barduil Big Bang, Canon Divergence, Character Transformation, Corruption, Cultural Misunderstandings, Dale - Freeform, Dol Guldur, Easterlings, Father and Son Relationship, Goblins, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Horror, Mirkwood, Moral Ambiguity, Orcs, Redemption, Slow Burn, The Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring - Freeform, The One Ring - Freeform, Thranduil x Bard, Tragedy, War, battles, dark themes, from BOTFA to FOTR, lots of talking, many years covered, mentioned Silmarillion characters, mentions of the Silmarillion, mirkwood family, non-canon deaths, non-canon survivals, ring corruption, siege, wyrms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:42:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3824428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alikuu/pseuds/alikuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas rode to Rivendell with a small package sent by his father. Little did he know that he was carrying the key to a shattered tale of fate, love and corruption, as well as the future of Middle Earth itself...<br/>(Bard ends up with the Ring canon divergence AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the Barduil Big Bang and every here and there you will see the stunning illustrations, which the amazingly talented Nisie drew for this story.  
> I’ve tried to put them in relevant places, however if you want to gaze upon their perfection right now, here is a link: nisiedrawsstuff.tumblr.com/post/117448181402/barduil-big-bang-exchange-a-blessing-in-disguise  
> Many thanks to Meg for beta reading! She can be found here: thrandueils.tumblr.com
> 
> Here is how to read:
> 
> Normal text.  
> “Dialogue text,”  
>  _“‘Retold dialogue,’_  
>  *** (start or finish of flashbacks)  
>  _Flashback text_  
>  _“Flashback dialogue,”_
> 
> ✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣

The Council of Elrond was gathered on a warm autumn day to decide the fate of Bard, the Fallen King of Dale. Amongst the gathering of elves, dwarfs and men, there was a young elf, Legolas Prince of Mirkwood, who presented a simple golden ring for all to see.

 

“My father sends this ring,” Legolas said. “He said that Bard has possessed it for many years and that he suspects it the source of the evil corruption that took over his body and soul. Bard met with him in peace just before his last stand against Elrond and Lady Galadriel. He voluntarily gave away this ring. I know not what it would prove during this trial, but I believe my father thought it would be of the utmost importance.”

 

“They say he was a good King once,” Boromir, a man of the south spoke, “Until he started practicing necromancy and found a way to extend his life unnaturally. Is it true?”

 

Boromir had travelled the long road from Gondor in order to find the meaning to a riddle, however instead of providing an answer, Elrond had invited him to participate in the council, saying that it was going to reveal what he needed to know. Boromir failed to see how the trial of Bard the Fell King, of whom he had heard but vague rumours, had anything to do with Gondor’s concerns, yet he attended, refusing to leave with nothing.

 

“Bard the Dragonslayer was not a necromancer, and he was more than a good King. Once he was a man of the most noble character and a truly wise leader. I knew him personally, if not too well,” Legolas said. “I believe others need to speak here. I came only to deliver this evidence and listen to the council’s decision.”

 

“Thank you, Legolas Thranduilion,” Elrond said. “As I said to you earlier, it is well that your father has sent you and just in time it seems. Fate has delivered this ring in front of our council and perhaps we will have to discuss more than the fate of Bard the Fallen today. Gandalf has had suspicions about this ring for many decades and now he shall put them to the test. If his fears prove true, then we might be given a fearful burden as well as a great opportunity.”

 

“Before we continue to my side of the story, I’d like to ask why King Thranduil has not come personally to testify today?” Gandalf asked, his bushy eyebrows furrowing over his eyes. “Was Bard the Dragonslayer not his dearest friend and ally?”

 

“He was, and he would have been still, had their relationship not shattered many years ago,” Legolas said. “The reason for my father’s absence is that our borders have become more dangerous than ever since the fallen King was imprisoned. Evil creatures that had hid from his even darker presence are now swarming our woods. My father stayed to protect our realm. It is his duty as King.”

 

“And it is the echo of his words that I hear from you,” Gandalf mused, “however, I think that there is a less honest reason behind this act. I believe Thranduil has already figured out what this ring is, and doesn’t want to be held accountable for the folly of his doing, which this ring would prove.”

 

“I don’t understand,” Legolas said.

 

“But you shall. I just need a final test and I would be able to tell with certainty. Lord Elrond, where can I light up a fire?”

 

After the Wizard had set the tiny gold ring into a pit of fire and shown everyone the fine writing on it, it was without a doubt certain that the One Ring had been found.

 

“This is the One Ring, the weapon of the enemy, which he seeks in order to restore his ancient power,” Gandalf concluded. “And there is Thranduil’s reason to hide. He knew and hid this, allowing the ring to remain in the possession of a mortal man. For what reasons, no one here knows, but perhaps together we can reveal.”

 

“Your accusations lack evidence,” Legolas protested. “My father would never do something so reckless! He would never knowingly endanger the fate of Middle Earth and our people!”

 

“Calm down, my prince,” Elrond soothed. “Nobody is going to jump to conclusions before we examine the facts. However, through presenting this evidence, Thranduil has made himself an integral part of the story and his lack of culpability has become questionable. Many here know how much the Woodland King valued Bard the Dragonslayer, and that they were close.”

 

The dwarves from the Lonely Mountain, lead by Gloin, grunted and puffed with their arms crossed and various degrees of indignation at the memory of the human king who had taken a clear preference to his elven neighbours.

 

“You have to forgive those who might think that perhaps it isn’t so far-fetched to assume that Thranduil might have closed his eyes on the matter of the ring for a while, if that meant protecting his friend,” Elrond added.

 

“If he had withheld this information knowingly, it would have been only because he must have believed that he could somehow contain this evil by himself,” Legolas insisted.

 

“That is the most likely reason. Thranduil has always been independent to a fault. However, we must get the whole story clear before this Council can decide what would become of Bard the Fallen. And it appears that now we have other, even more pressing matters, to look into afterwards.”

 

“In that case, I believe that I should start,” Gandalf said, “The story of how I discovered that this is the One Ring and the story of Bard’s corruption are one and the same, and since I was there through most of it, I can tell you what I saw. I would welcome more information, from Legolas and from Thorin’s folk, who are present here today. Only after everything has been said we can decide if there is still hope of recovery for Bard and if Thranduil holds any blame.”

 


	2. The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions

“As some of you know, I was directly involved in Thorin’s quest to reclaim the title King under the Mountain,” Gandalf began. “I was the one who proposed the involvement of a burglar for the task of sneaking into the dragon’s lair, and I found Bilbo Baggins, a Hobbit from the Shire, for the job. Bilbo was a fine hobbit and of great help to the company. The dwarfs would have hardly escaped the goblin tunnels in the Misty Mountains, or the dungeons of the Elven King without him. At the time, the Mirkwood elves must have wondered how anyone could free thirteen dwarves under their noses, but the ring that lies in front of this Council today is the answer to the question.

 

“How Bilbo stumbled upon the Ring of Power is something I never managed to learn, although I have my suspicions, which I won’t discuss just now. Unfortunately for Bilbo and everyone involved, such rings have a will of their own, and they choose their carriers. The ring used Bilbo to escape the forgotten hole where it had fallen into and waited for the right moment to abandon him.

 

“That’s where Bard came in. At the time he was a simple bargeman and on that fateful day when he met Thorin’s company, he was out on the river bank collecting the empty barrels coming from Mirkwood. A deal for transport and shelter was struck and Bard unwittingly allowed the One Ring to enter his home. Surely at the time there was nothing sinister in Bard to make the Ring choose him as a new owner, because I met him during that time, and I remember the man he was. A widower and a father of three children, he didn’t have a dishonest bone in his body.

 

“Perhaps the Ring had felt the influence of Thorin, whose soul was beginning to rot with Dragon sickness as he drew nearer to the mountain, therefore it chose to fall out of Bilbo’s pocket. Whatever it was, the fact is that the dwarves and the hobbit left for the mountain and the ring was later found by Bard in his house.

 

“ _‘I wanted to return this ring,’_ he later told me in Dale while we stood on the wall where the elves of Thranduil’s army were stationed overlooking the barricaded gate of Erebor. Bard had attempted to reason with Thorin, despite the Elven King’s cynicism, and had found that Baggins had perished in the mountain.

 

“' _It must have been Bilbo’s, because none of the dwarfs recognized it. That poor hobbit… Burned by dragon fire... I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Not even on the one who awoke Smaug from his slumber.’_

 

“ _‘It was never Bilbo’s fault, nor his idea,_ ’ I told him.

 

“ _‘I am certain it wasn’t,’_ he said and I could see the grudge that he had formed against Thorin. In fact, Thorin had asked for the ring, as a keepsake from his lost friend, however Bard had refused to give anything more to the Dwarf King.

 

“However, Bard was a compassionate man back then. And thank the fates that he was, because that must have been the only reason why the Ring took so long to destroy him. Perhaps it still hasn’t completely, because only a man with purity in his heart and strength beyond imagination could part with this accursed ring once he has been for so long under its influence.

.

“I didn’t ask Bard what made the ring seem so important that he had kept it on his person during the fire of Laketown, but it made me suspicious. It was obvious that this was a great ring, however I was not yet certain of its abilities or its origins. I made a mistake then – I did not prod the matter any further. And it was only a couple of days later that I regretted my decision, because unlike me, Thranduil hadn’t sat with his arms crossed. When I next heard about the ring, I also learned that it made its wearer invisible, something which the Elven King had already been made aware of…”

 

“I know that you have a lukewarm relationship with him, Mithrandir,” Legolas interrupted, “but choose your words carefully when you speak of my father, especially when you speak about things that you have not personally been witness to.”

 

“Indeed, I am about to speak about things that I have not witnessed. However, I can assume much from what I have seen and what I have heard, for I am no fool. You were probably right when you said earlier that Thranduil had good intentions, even if I don’t believe they were entirely selfless. To him, it might have been a choice between one man’s fate and the wellbeing of his people. Whatever his flawed logic, it nearly brought doom on us all. Thankfully, fate was on our side and Bard did not deliver this ring to its true master, instead he gave it to Thranduil many years later. What motivated this action is another riddle for today.

 

“As I was saying, Bard’s path to evil began in the last days of the Battle of the Five armies when he realized that the War would not cease before his diminished people suffered too many loses. On the second night after the army of the orcs had been defeated and the war had continued between elves, dwarfs and the men of Dale, I was in the tent with Lord Thranduil and Bard, soon to be King of Dale.

 

“ _‘There is a stone in that mountain, which Thorin values more than any other treasure, more than this war, and certainly more than the lives of men,’_ Thranduil said as he poured a glass of wine and handed it to Bard. He didn’t even look at him when he spoke but the meaning was clear to all.

 

“ _‘Don’t you even suggest it!’_ I said. _‘It is too dangerous!’_

 

“ _‘And what if it is not,’_ Bard stated more than asked. I did not know his meaning back then. _‘My Lord Thranduil, tell me of that stone.’_

 

Then Thranduil explained how he had seen the Arkenstone engraved on the throne of Thror and how brightly it had shone and how he believed that if the allies somehow got a hold of the heart of the mountain the conflict could be resolved without any further bloodshed.

 

“ _‘Don’t go,’_ I urged Bard, _‘Your life means a lot to your people. They need you now!’_

 

“ _‘And what if there is nothing left of my people when the war ends? I have to go.’_

 

He slipped into the night and I turned to Thranduil, who was calmly sipping on his wine.

 

_“‘How could you make him do that! It could kill him…'_

 

“ _‘As could war,’_ he said.

 

“Then I understood that Thranduil knew something I did not. My gut instinct told me to follow Bard and I did, leaving the tent without any further adieu. I followed Bard from a distance and once he walked out of the torchlight of the camp I saw his hand slip into his pocket, and briefly something golden flickered before he completely disappeared. It was then that I pieced together the incredible story of the dwarves’ escape from the Elven dungeons and Bilbo’s strange behaviour right after the escaped from the goblin tunnels.

 

“It became clear to me that the ring, which had now passed upon Bard was dangerous, but I couldn’t do anything until the whole thing settled and the war ended. And on the next day it did…

 

“ _‘Thieves!’_ Thorin shouted in outrage from the newly rebuild barricade of Erebor’s gate.

 

“ _‘Before you call us dishonourable,’_ Bard answered while casually tossing the stolen Arkenstone into the air and catching it, _‘remember that you backed down on our agreement. Or does honour only go one way in dwarven society?’_

 

“I should have been alarmed by the way Thranduil was smirking at Bard’s comments that day. Rarely had I seen such mirth on the Elven King’s face and I should have seen trouble brewing even as Thorin surrendered what was promised and called off the War.

 

“A treaty was signed a few days later in Dale by Thorin, Thranduil and Bard, soon to be King of Dale. No small amount of knowing smiles and amused looks were traded at the dwarf’s expense... Now, don’t get flustered, Gloin! I’m merely retelling what I saw and I was just getting to the important part.

 

“After the treaty was struck, I had a chance to confront Bard about the ring. Even if he had been angry or wary of me following him and prying, he did not show it. Instead he let me examine the ring briefly and told me that he intended to keep it, because the invisibility could prove useful.

 

“I couldn’t stay in Dale for much longer, I knew I had to find out whatever I could about the ring. However, before I left I warned Bard against using it and he seemed to agree that it was best that he kept the ring away, unless a dire need arose.

 

“ _‘The need must be dire indeed,”_ I said to him. _‘We don’t know what its effects may do. I don’t want to say something out of turn, but I think we are yet to discover the true scope of this ring. I will return as soon as I can with news. Don’t use it in my absence!’_

 

“And Thranduil I also sought out that day and said:

 

“ _‘Never make him use it again! Have you forgotten what rings of power do to humans? Have you forgotten the Nine?’_

 

“ _‘I think you are exaggerating,’_ Thranduil easily dismissed me.

 

“I should have made the Elven King promise, however at the time I couldn’t even dream that he might meddle any further into the affairs of the King of Dale. As far as I knew, Thranduil had gotten what he had come for and was about to return to Greenwood and remain in isolation for few centuries more.

 

“So I went on my quest, but other deeds got me delayed. I had to postpone the search of the ring’s origin and when I had a chance to visit Dale again, I asked after the affairs of the state and King Bard mentioned the Elven King’s name often and very fondly as he spoke about mutually beneficent trade deals and aid extended from the elves of Mirkwood.”

 

“Aid had been regularly extended by the dwarves of Erebor as well,” a young ginger dwarf sitting next to Gloin protested.

 

“But more so from Mirkwood,” Legolas cut in.

 

“If I you do not wish to hear my words, I will say no more and watch you bang your foolish elven and dwarven heads against each other, until something cracks! But none of that will help you unravel this sorry tale without me,” Gandalf roared subduing both sides. When he continued speaking, his voice commanded that he would suffer no more interruptions. “What I realised when I visited Dale again was that in those two years that I had been away Thranduil had been a regular visitor to the halls of Bard, and that Bard had also made a few visits to the woodland realm, something which rather surprised me.

 

“ _‘I think of the Elven King as a friend,’_ Bard said to me. _‘He has been kind to my family and my people.’_

 

“I spared him my thoughts that Thranduil had expertly used him to win the war on Thorin and instead asked after the ring. Bard assured me that it was in safe keeping and hadn’t been touched since we had spoken. That put my mind to ease for far too long and I allowed the affairs to sit. That is where my fault lies, because while turning my mind to more pressing matters I completely ignored the most important one of the century.”

 

Gandalf paused to look around. A quiet had fallen over the Council. No bird song, not even a leaf made a sound. He took a deep breath and continued his retelling.

 

“It was in the decades after the Necromancer’s spirit was vanquished from Dol Guldur that goblins and trolls began coming out of their lairs in the Misty Mountains and terrorizing Thranduil’s borders. He spent much of his time fortifying his lands and on many occasions marched out of his forest halls alongside his warriors to fight the evils, which lurked in the darkness of his once Greenwood. Many tales can be told of the Elven King and his warrior’s vallor, however we do not have time to tell them all today. What is important to the current trial of Bard the Fallen is that while Thranduil fought, he did not stay out of touch with the King of Dale. He extended whatever help he could offer and the two shared a frequent correspondence.

 

“What was written in those letters we would never know, but I assume that in those days it was mainly reports of each other’s exploits, Thranduil writing about the skirmishes, and Bard about the rebuilding of Dale. Without a doubt, after the first few years after Bard’s coronation, the two kings did not see each other in person for at least two decades of restless peace. Bard grew in his Kingship and became a wise and beloved ruler. His children grew and he managed to marry off his two daughters and his only son. Himself, he did not remarry, something that many found strange, however even stranger still was that he did not seem to age. Bard’s children began nearing their middle ages, while Bard himself remained unchanged and seemingly perpetually a handsome and athletic man with a few strands of silver in his dark hair.

 

“Imagine Thranduil’s surprise when the two at last met, nearly 25 years after the Battle of the Five Armies. It was with a cart full of medicine and provisions that the Elven King arrived in Dale on a cool spring day after Erebor and Dale had suffered a raid by a legion of orcs. The orcs may had not been great in number, but they had brought a disease that had made the victory costly for the men of Dale. Despite the hardship, King Bard’s welcome to his elven allies is said to have been a very warm one. I heard tales that Thranduil stayed for a week at the King’s hospitality while his elven healers aided the men of Dale. During that time, Thorin was not invited to even one council between allies, which does not necessarily mean that matters of diplomacy were not discussed, however it does suggest that the Kings of Dale and Mirkwood prefered to keep to themselves.”

 

***

 

_“It is good to see you well, my friend,” Bard said once they had finally retired to the King’s study, a place littered with scrolls, both ancient and new. Bard had devoted a large section of his time in recent years to studies of both history and ancient dialects, a hobby which Thranduil had happily endorsed by sending materials from his own archives through his messengers to Dale._

_The place was familiar to Thranduil, who had drank there with Bard many times through the earlier years of their friendship, before troubles had set them apart. However, the room was not the only thing that had stayed the same._

_“It is a blessing to enjoy your hospitality again, and to see you still a young man, unchanged by the hardships of our time,” Thranduil answered._

_“A young man,” Bard snorted, “I am pushing sixty and can hardly be called young anymore. It would likely start to show sooner rather than later. I just hope that my old-age will not put you off when it comes.”_

_“It might surprise you to learn that old age’s visage offends the elven eyes far less than it does the human ones. There is beauty in the maturity of the body, one that your kind surely fails to see, because you recognise the signs of death nearing. To us, your ageing is otherworldly, a part of a process, which we do not fully understand.”_

_“You speak beautiful words and I will hold you to them when I’m old and wrinkled,” Bard said only half-jokingly, averting his eyes from Thranduil’s intense gaze to his goblet. They sat close, around a desk on which the Elven King’s elbow rested. Bard could smell the faint scent of wine on the elf’s breath._

_“You have changed,” Thranduil said after several long moments of scrutiny. “Not outwardly, because there are no signs of ageing on you. But inwardly you have grown, in the way elves do. You have become wiser and more beautiful.”_

_“Are you getting drunk?” Bard quirked an eyebrow._

_“Perhaps,” Thranduil conceded and they laughed and drank from their goblets._

_“I have a gift for you,” Thranduil said after a moment of companionable silence. Bard smirked and raised his eyebrows expectantly. “I wanted to give it to you at a suitable moment, however my heart tells me that there won’t be a better time...”_

_As he spoke, the Elven King reached into his heavy robes and pulled out a sheathed dagger, which he handed to his friend. Bard took the long elven knife carefully, not completely surprised that Thranduil kept hidden weapons on his person, and slowly pulled the blade out to examine its fine craftsmanship._

_“This is a magnificent gift,” Bard said._

_“May it serve you well,” Thranduil said and smiled, his eyes twinkling with emotion. “It’s blade will never lose its sharpness, it will glow in the vicinity of the enemy, and it would never allow itself to be wielded by evil.”_

_The brightness of the Elven King’s smile left Bard at a loss of words. Feeling clumsy and awkward, he reached out across the small distance and placed his hand on Thranduil’s shoulder firmly._

_“Thank you,” he said while holding the Elven King’s gaze. Unintentionally, his fingers began rubbing circles into the soft robes covering Thranduil’s shoulder and the Elven King’s expression turned serious. Bard’s smile died as well and he removed his hand, feeling embarrassed by his actions._

_Thranduil looked away and finished his goblet in one go._

_“It’s late and I should retire,” he said and Bard nodded, finishing his drink quickly as well._

_They bid each other goodnight and parted until the morning._

***

 

“No doubt during those days their friendship grew,” Gandalf continued, “but also what must have grown were Thranduil’s suspicions regarding the ring, which remained in Bard’s possession. The Elven King is no fool and he knows the elven history from his own life experience. He was around when the rings were forged and he remembers their evil. He must have suspected that Bard’s longevity was due to the ring in his possession, however he chose not to discuss this with Bard. Perhaps Thranduil was starting to guess that this was the One Ring, therefore he was wary of the implications of it being found.

 

“Most likely he feared the fate of his Kingdom, if the Enemy was to learn that his most prized weapon was located in Dale, so close to Mirkwood and Thranduil’s halls. He knew that retaliation would have come and it would have struck with all the malice, which Sauron could gather. It is no secret to Thranduil that the lands beyond the Lonely Mountain are still teaming with Wyrms and that the orcs are multiplying beyond the walls of Angmar.

 

“But even without the ring being discovered, it’s power was drawing the servants of the enemy towards it and Mirkwood, Dale and Erebor were taking strike after strike. Their ranks were weakened when Sauron decided to destroy the North and sent his trump card. It took him another ten years, but he amassed an army of evil men from the east and sent them to attack Erebor. Vastly outnumbered, the dwarves hid in their mountain, deciding they had enough provisions to wait out the battle and allow the armies of Dale to reduce the numbers of the Easterlings. Naturally, Thranduil marched out to help his favourite ally and the Mirkwood elves fought alongside the men of Dale, however the Easterlings had brought monstrous war animals and war machines devised by the enemy himself.

 

“Dale was soon surrounded and the decimated armies of men and elves were under siege inside the city’s walls. However, even worse news reached the allies in their darkest hour – a Wyrm had emerged from Dol Guldur along with an army of Goblins and they were pillaging Mirkwood.

 

“The troops, which Thranduil had left behind to defend his people were being pushed further back towards his woodland fortress. Legolas was there, he fought valiantly and could tell of the horrors he faced as he lead the troops of elves into battle during those desperate times.

 

“What happened next was probably born of desperation and a desire to save everyone. However, as we all know, the road to evil is often paved with good intentions. For it must have been then that Thranduil revealed to Bard the true potential of a Ring of Power and convinced him to use the weapon of the Enemy.”

 

“You said that you understand the duress that my people were under, and I was there to confirm it, as you said,” Legolas spoke, “However you still hurry to blame my father for the fate of Bard the Fallen. Is it so difficult to believe that the spirit of men could be corrupted on its own? Why must my father take the blame for Bard’s choice?”

 

“Because I know the hearts of both men and elves. And I can tell you that Bard as he was then, would have avoided sullying himself with the enemy’s weapon at all costs. He would have preferred to die an honest man rather to become the monster he turned into. Thranduil, however, as much as I am certain his favouritism for Bard was real, is the kind of elf that would sacrifice his closest friend in order to ensure the survival of his kin. And by kin, I mean you, Legolas. Do you think that even for a moment your father’s thoughts left you while you were fighting in the forest? Can you imagine the anxiety he must have felt. Is it so hard to imagine that he would sacrifice Bard’s fate in order to save yours? I believe that he would have done anything to see you alive again.”

 

***

 

_It was a sore hour in Dale. Dying and wounded wailed in the night as not enough hands cared for them. The food supplies were running low, even though the elves were sharing their elven travel food, lembas, with the human population. Bard had studied elven culture enough to know what that meant and was eternally grateful for having earned the Elven King’s friendship and high regard._

_However even the lembas, which Thranduil had personally given him, couldn’t fully keep the fatigue from Bard’s mind as he surveyed the city and tried to land a hand wherever he could. Sigrid and Tilda were doing their best to coordinate the healers, Bain was in command of the ongoing rebuilding of the walls, but the commanders of his troops were all reporting that his army was on their last feet._

_Fear gripped Bard’s heart as he estimated their chances. They could only hope that the army of Celeborn from Lothlorien would arrive in time, as Thranduil had promised. However even if they did, the Easterlings outnumbered them by so much that it would take the armies of Thorin and Dain to come to their aid as well, in order to win the uneven fight._

_Bard had sent a distress signal already, but he knew that the dwarves would not come, unless victory was certain. They too had lost much, and they were no friends of the elves. Perhaps Thorin secretly enjoyed seeing Thranduil sieged in Dale, just a stone’s throw from Erebor’s gates, unaided and desperate. Bard knew of their old feud and wouldn’t put it past Thorin to toast to Thranduil’s misfortune. Perhaps he was even taking his revenge on Dale for having sided with the elves._

_WIth these bleak thoughts, he headed back to the inner city to look for Thranduil. It was truly a blessing that in his younger years Bard had thought about reconstructing and redesigning the city’s walls and had hired an esteemed architect from Gondor. Dale wouldn’t have withstood the siege, had those reforms not happened._

_In the end, it was Thranduil who found him._

_“I have been searching for you,” Bard said._

_“Then we are both in luck,” Thranduil said. His usual unfazed demeanour was replaced by a strung up sternness. His icy blonde hair was matted with dirt and the blood of both enemies and friends, as a result of the shortage of water during the days of their siege. However, he still looked far better put together than Bard, whose armour was partially torn in places from his near brushes with death, and his hair and face were covered in the same battle grime as any other warrior in his army._

_“We need to speak,” Thranduil said and Bard followed without question. He did begin to wonder where they were going when they avoided all relevant places and instead headed to the upper living quarters, where Bard’s residence still stood. Once they crossed the square in front of the large estate that Bard now owned and shared with his children and their families, the King of Dale knew for certain that was where the elf was taking him. He didn’t comment when Thranduil let himself in and walked straight to Bard’s private study._

_“A little early to relax and share celebratory drinks, don’t you think,” Bard teased to cover his unease and agitation at his friend’s odd behaviour._

_“What I’m about to tell you requires the utmost privacy,” Thranduil finally turned to him. They stood in the dark, no candle lit between them, however Bard could see the Elven King’s silhouette and the reflections cast by his silver armour fairly well due to the moonlight, which shone through a hole in the roof, created by one of the enemy’s war machines meeting its mark._

_“Then hurry and speak – there are places I need to be, repairs that need to be done. We have no hope to win if we stand around and waste our breaths on words.”_

_“Regardless of whether you waste your breath working or talking at this point there is no way you can win this war,” Thranduil responded and his voice was clipped and rising._

_Bard tried to discern his elven companion’s expression. He had never heard Thranduil speak in that way and for a moment he feared that the Elven King had lost hope. He couldn’t see his face, just the pale halo of his hair and the sparkle of the silver circlet he wore._

_“What are you saying?” Bard whispered, taking a tentative step forward._

_“I am only asking what you would do, to win it anyway,” Thranduil said, taking a step into the light that streamed from another hole in the roof._

_Under the soft full moon the Elven King looked more than just fair – he looked ethereal. It made Bard’s heart flutter, yet he had to remember how to speak, because while Thranduil’s beauty still struck him, he knew it would not save them._

_“What are you suggesting?” he asked softly._

_“That ring, the one that Gandalf makes so much fuss about…”_

_“The one he told me not to use? How would being invisible be of any use in this situation?”_

_“I believe it can do far more than just turn you invisible,” Thranduil said very quietly. “Elvish rings give power according to one’s desire and potential. If you so desire you can only embrace it’s power to turn you invisible, even though that is just a side effect of its connection with the spirit world. Although I suspect that to some such power is more than enough, I think you are capable to use it better.”_

_“Is it safe? Gandalf believed that this ring could cause more trouble than it’s worth. What if it brings an even bigger evil to our doors?”_

_“Even if it does, it would only come later. By the time it happens, you would have the time to rebuild your city, seek reinforcements. I will answer your call if it comes to it. However, we need to think of the present, if we want to live to see the future.”_

_“What are you not telling me?”_

_Thranduil bowed his head in a gesture of uncertainly so unlike himself. It scared Bard more than his gloomy words._

_“This ring might have been corrupted by the Enemy, and it could attract his attention to Dale.”_

_“In that case, I cannot risk using it. Not only for our sake, but for the sake of the other free peoples of the North. Whatever happens here, it would be no worse than what would come if the one in Mordor decides to take his revenge on us.”_

_“Don’t you understand?!” suddenly Thranduil was right in his face. His composure was hanging on a threat and his voice was as dangerous as a serpent’s hiss. “You have no choice! Would you see your city burned, your legacy stomped, your line broken? Your grandchildren slaughtered?”_

_Bard tried to take a step backwards, but Thranduil trapped him against his desk. From this close, Bard could see every little detail of him, magnificent and terrifying in his rage._

_“You do not know the pain you will experience when your people start truly dying, truly screaming…” as if possessed by a sudden violent vision or memory, Thranduil took a step back, agony running over his beautiful features so quickly that Bard thought he saw something distort on his left side, but it might have been the play of his tired eyes in the darkness. The moment passed as soon as it began and Thranduil stepped into his personal space, so close that their noses almost bumped. “You have not seen anything yet. I have. And I will not bear witness to my people being slaughtered once more!”_

_“You won’t have to! I won’t…,” Bard protested while trying to create some distance between himself and the enraged elf._

_“Listen to me,” Thranduil hissed and cupped his jaw to force him to look at him, “at dawn I will ride out of these walls into battle with my entire army.”_

_“It would be suicide,” Bard whispered, withstanding the elf’s gaze. “Mass suicide.”_

_“Indeed it will be, however I would rather test our fates than to slowly wither trapped into what will soon be your people’s tomb.”_

_The silence between them was loaded. Thranduil slowly released him and for a while they stared each other down._

_“Celeborn’s army is coming,” Bard uttered between measured breaths._

_“Yet with every day wasted, my son’s troops lose numbers. I cannot tarry here while he fights an uneven fight. I must go to him.”_

_“You will perish. What good would that do him?”_

_“If I perish at least I would meet him in Mandos’ quarters sooner, as without me he is sure to suffer the same fate,” Thranduil took half a step backwards and regarded Bard as if he had never seen him before._

_“Yet it doesn’t have to be that way,” the elf’s voice lost its sharpness and dropped a whisper, “With the power of that ring you could turn our desperate flight into victory. You could make each of our arrows fly true, while each strike of the enemy misses. Your will could fill our warriors with valour and courage, while making our opponents squander in fear and confusion. It is up to you, if tomorrow’s battle will be our triumph or our slaughter.”_

_“Don’t ask me to do this anymore, Thranduil,” Bard pleaded, his heart clenching at the sight of the sorrow on his friend’s face._

_“Then I will besiege you no more,” Thranduil said. “This is farewell, my friend.”_

_With those words Thranduil closed his eyes, leaned closer and brushed their lips together. It was a chaste kiss, barely a touch at all, it felt more like a whiff of fragrant spring air against Bard’s hardened lips. It was so fleeting and so sweet that it brought tears to Bard’s eyes. Closing them tightly to keep the tears from falling, the former bargeman clasped his hand around the Elven King’s nape and pressed their mouths more firmly together._

 

_ _

_He felt Thranduil press closer and they kissed like that but even with his eyes closed, Bard knew the exact moment when a spark of desire passed between them, the shock of which felt like branding iron pressed to naked skin. He heard Thranduil’s breath hitch just as his heart seemed to skip and suddenly the kiss was no longer that of friends._

_Bard froze, terrified to act, unwilling to pull away. But the hand that held the Elven King to him did not relent and Thranduil was tilting his face, parting his lips and before Bard knew it, he had deepened the kiss, their tongues slid against each other and Bard could taste him. The elf seemed to be tentatively probing his mouth as well until a small shudder of pleasure ran through him and he let out a shuddering sigh. That was all it took for Bard to lose his inhibitions. He grabbed the the Elven King and pulled him closer. Silver and Black armor collided noisily as they grinded against each other. Thranduil’s body was moving with his, pinning Bard against the desk._

 

_They were kissing feverishly, with a hunger that neither of them had felt for a very long time. Bard had thought that at his age, he would no longer know how to feel this burning of the flesh, but already he could feel his body vibrating with need, his entire frame straining with desire, and heat pooling low in his belly. Mindlessly, he grabbed Thranduil's hips and pulled him as far as he could go, grinding together, but through the layers of metal he couldn’t get any satisfaction, not even a semblance of release._

_Suddenly Thranduil extricated himself from Bard’s embrace. He was breathless and trembling, yet his composure was quickly returning as he took several grounding steps backwards. Still dazed, it took Bard another moment to fully realize what they had done before quickly straightening to his full height from where he had collapsed against the desk._

_He had to say something, he couldn’t bear for them to part that way. He had to know what had just happened._

_“I didn’t know that this is how elves say goodbye,” he half-teased, yet he knew his expression was betraying him._

_“Not all, but if this is to be our last farewell on Middle Earth, then I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Thranduil said before turning to leave._

_Bard had to hold back the instinct to run after him, to beg him to stay and clench their mutual thirst, get rid of all regrets that the dawn and all days would bring. It was frightening how quickly these new thoughts were invading the King of Dale’s mind._

_He knew that he wanted the impossible – they were too different and there were too many obstacles and obligations between them. They were surrounded by doom and were both needed elsewhere. Each had people to lead and what had happened between them had come at the worst possible time…_

_“It won’t be the last,” Bard breathed before Thranduil’s silhouette disappeared around the corner._

_The elf paused for just a moment, and the King of Dale knew that he had heard him._

_Thranduil left silently, and as he did a resolve formed into the man’s soul, fuelled by the mixture of emotions that the elf had left in his wake. A desire to live and to see another day, the desire for a better tomorrow, and a hope, which Bard had lost long ago and hadn’t expected to find again so late into his life. It burned him from within against all reason._

_***_

 

“No one knows for certain what changed on that fateful night that Bard and Thranduil decided not to hide behind the walls of Dale any longer, but the result was that on the next day the horns roared and of the armies of men and elves spilled through the gates of Dale with a battle fervour, the likes of which the North had not seen in an age. They fought fearlessly and tirelessly, slashing their enemy and cutting through their ranks, leaving mounds of bodies behind. It is said that they were like possessed, and that it was as if a strange magic guided each strike, while the enemy were consumed by a nameless horror, cowering before the charge of Bard the Dragonslayer. They lost their battle organization and split into a flight of desperation, only to be slaughtered as they tried to flee into the woods and beyond the mountains.

 

“It was a great battle indeed, but no great celebration followed it, because the combined losses of the war had been too great. And as soon as the wounded from both armies had been taken care of, the Elven King’s army hurried to return to Mirkwood and answer his prince’s call for aid. That is when the two kings parted for a year until a letter from Thranduil summoned Bard’s aid to Greenwood, for their ranks had been reduced and their warriors needed rest, but no respite had come in the painful months of constant raids from the south and the west.

 

“In the meantime Dale’s walls and much of the city had been rebuilt as if by the force of magic. Without a doubt, both the battle and the rebuilding of the city were done with the power of the One Ring, which Bard must have been using the entire time. However, by my estimates the ring hadn’t yet taken a hold on the King’s heart, for that came after and here is where I believe Thranduil’s main fault lies.

 

“Many were surprised when their King put his son Bain in charge and rode out with the troops, which he was sending to Thranduil.

 

“ _‘It is a time of great peril, how could we be without our King,’_ the people were saying.

 

“Bard left anyway, despite his successor’s beseeching him to stay. I spoke to Bain on a later visit and here is what he told me Bard had said:

 

“ _‘If you are ever in doubt, remember that your sisters are beside you. Sigrid will guide you, Tilda will give you courage. At this age you are more than fit to be king, so even if I were not to return, I am beyond doubt that you will be alright. Perhaps it would even be more natural that way, I am seventy years old, it’s about time… Oh, don’t give me that look! This will not be the end of your old man. I still have a thing or two to do in this life, I have that feeling...”_

 

“Despite the lightness of his words, it was no light matter that Bard was more needed at home, but instead he chose to personally appear to Thranduil’s help and they were to ride together against the horrors of Dol Guldur. His troops reached the Woodland realm in just under two days with their elven escorts meeting them at the borders of Mirkwood. There the two Kings reunited a dined together with their most esteemed captains until the wee hours of the night...”

 

***

 

_“Elven hospitality has not changed in the decades that I have not set foot into your exquisite domain, my Lord. However it is getting late and it is best that I too take my leave for the night,” Bard said as he set down his now empty goblet._

_His dark hair was falling in neat curls over his most kingly attire, his coronation garb - a black velvet robe embroidered with golden thread and lined with dark fur. He rarely wore such finery, or any jewellery besides his crown, but on this occasion he had adorned his wrists with bejewelled cuff bracelets, and a golden dwarfish brooch in the form of Smaug decorated his chest, it’s glittering eyes made of rubies, a gift from Balin._

_The extra effort had not gone unnoticed, not even by the King of the Woodland Realm, whose glances Bard had caught enough times through the evening. The food on the table was long since gone, as were the Prince of Mirkwood and the captains of both sides, the last of whom had retired over an hour before. All that was left was Thranduil with his goblet of wine, seated temptingly on the other end of the very long table. He looked just as young and ancient as he always did, wearing his summer crown along with a forest green mantle over a shimmering pale gold robe._

_The year, which had passed since that night during the siege had not cooled Bard’s head in the slightest, if anything the craving had gotten stronger. Of course, he had analyzed what had transpired between them many times over and had concluded that it had been either the fruit of battle nerves and desperation, or an act of manipulation. He knew that he shouldn’t have come personally, as Thranduil had requested, because he had to be thrice a fool to think that the Elven King wouldn’t at least attempt to use him again. However, he also knew that he wouldn’t have found peace until he knew for certain what had driven the elf that night, because somewhere deep inside, there was hope that there had been something else in those icy eyes instead of manipulation._

_It felt unlikely that the Elven King would make his move that night – it was late, and more reasonable to retire. Perhaps he was going to breach the subject of the ring once they were in the woods, where the closeness of danger could cloud Bard’s mind once more..._

_“Won’t you have a final drink with me, Lord Bard,” Thranduil asked. His robes sighed softly and spilled around his slender form as he stood from his seat and waited for an answer to his invitation._

_And there was the move, which Bard had been expecting._

_..._

_As the two made their way through the stone cut caverns, Bard tried time and time again to calm his nerves. He didn’t know why, but he had a gnawing feeling that he was walking straight into a trap. All his life Thranduil had been his friend, and by all means Bard trusted him, so where did those thoughts stem from?_

_As he thought, Bard caught himself playing with the robes just over his chest, fingering the ring, which hung on a chain underneath. Early on, Bard had noticed that it seemed to like falling from pockets and even changing size and slipping off fingers, therefore he had began wearing it thus. Stilling his hands, Bard let go of the fabric._

_There were no guards anywhere that Bard could see and Elven King’s quarters had no doors, only a large, majestically carved hallway, which lead to his private rooms. Thranduil lead him through a high cavern where an enormous fireplace burned in the centre. The hall was circular and from it arched corridors lead to other sections of the King’s private dwellings. Bard could see a study, a library, and further down Bard caught a glimpse of the royal bed chambers._

_Thranduil stopped._

_“This is the Fire Hall. I rarely host guests here, with the exception of my son who sometimes comes to read,” Thranduil gestured towards an opening, “It is rather refreshing tonight and I have an excellent vintage cooling on the terrace. Would you like to sit there?”_

_Bard let him lead to a long platform, which hanged over the edge of the living stone, into which his palace was cut. The balcony revealed a breath-taking view of the forest and over the tree tops, one could just make out the imposing shadows of the Misty Mountains in the moonlight._

_The ledge was decorated with tiny elven lanterns with blue flames that reminded Bard of the stars above them, and provided just enough light, that it would take to discern the words of a book in the dark. Thranduil showed him to a wooden seat and poured wine into silver goblets. They shared the view and the drinks for a while in silence, until Thranduil spoke._

_“Tomorrow we march against evils more foul than any that your men have face before, and the woods are no longer as green as they once were. A gloom has crept beneath the branches and there are horrors, which few men have the heart to withstand.”_

_“If the peril is so deadly to the hearts of men, why did you summon my people?” Bard asked, although he was fairly certain he knew the answer._

_“Because my people are tired from the constant fighting and they are starting to lose their strength and courage in this year-long battle,” Thranduil said putting down his goblet and turning to Bard._

_“So you believe that a legion of men will make a difference where elven warriors could not?”_

_Thranduil’s mouth quirked up just a fraction._

_“Don’t play coy,” he said softly, leaning close. “I think we both know what it is that I am hoping for.”_

_Bard wetted his lips, tasting wine on his own skin. The double meaning was not lost to him, so he chose his next move carefully._

_“What if…” he said, lowering his voice just so Thranduil would have to lean even closer to make out his words, “I don’t have it on me?”_

_“Honestly,” Thranduil’s arched one dark eyebrow, “has it left your person even for a moment since you found it?”_

_“How do you know about that?” Bard pulled away abruptly, brow creasing with suspicion._

_“Just a guess,” Thranduil said._

_“I don’t believe that,” Bard said, secretly letting out a breath, which he didn’t know he was holding. “Will you not tell me what you know?”_

_“I could,” Thranduil said slowly and his gaze moved to the carved floor between them. “And I would have sooner, had I been certain in my knowledge. As it stands, I’m afraid that my guesses might cause more damage then be of aid.”_

_“I would like to know,” Bard said._

_“Very well,” Thranduil said, finishing his goblet in one go. “Are you not having that?” he gestured towards Bard’s drink._

_“No, I had more than…” Bard began, but Thranduil waited no longer to drain his goblet as well before raising a bit less gracefully than usual._

_“Come,” he said as he walked back into the Fire Hall, “This kind of knowledge is best disclosed in the light.”_

_They lounged on a cushioned low bench, close to the fireplace. Neither shied away from the closeness and the Elven King’s movements were relaxed and languid. Bard could tell that he was well in his cups, but his mind was coherent and his voice solemn as he spoke for a long time, explaining the story of the creation of the Rings of Power. He told the story of Sauron’s treachery and the hiding of the Three Elven rings._

_“This is not one of the Three, because their locations are known to me,” Thranduil concluded. “It cannot be one of the Nine either, because their fates are well known to all. I believe that it is either one of the seven, or the One Ring itself.”_

_“What is the chance that this is the Enemy’s all-powerful ring?” Bard asked readjusting his reclining position on his right elbow._

_“Having heard of the designs and magic of the dwarf rings, I would wager that this is not one of the seven, although I might be wrong,” Thranduil said as his fingers traced a pattern on the cushion between them._

_“So you think this is the One Ring?” Bards asked._

_Thranduil’s eyes snapped to his and held his for a long moment until Bard couldn’t take the weight of that penetrating gaze no longer._

_“For good or for evil, I believe that you now possess our enemy’s greatest weapon, the one things that would allow him to regain his ancient strength and plunge our world into darkness once again.”_

_“You were right,” Bard breathed as his hands clenched into tight fists. “Your guesses brought far more worry than they dispersed.”_

_“This could be an opportunity,” Thranduil shifted towards him._

_“No,” Bard shook his head and pushed himself to a sitting position, his hands restless in his lap. “I now know what Gandalf’s words meant all this time ago…”_

_“Gandalf,” Thranduil sneered in derision and he sat up facing Bard. “Mithrandir and the ones who came with him have not been much help to this world, besides spreading the seeds of fear and doubt amongst us. How do we even know whose side he is on?”_

_Bard felt keenly aware of his closeness. The proximity sent shivers down his spine and the hairs at the back of his neck rose in trepidation. The temptation to end the game was strong, but he had to hold back. Surely this distraction was exactly what Thranduil wanted._

_“From what I read, I understood that Gandalf’s order was sent by the Valar?” Bard said instead._

_“And if you have read more of the scrolls I sent you, surely you know that even the Valar can become corrupted,” Thranduil whispered. “We are on our own, my dearest friend. The Valar have long forsaken Middle Earth and your kind. My people are exiles here, and we too have been cursed for choosing to remain. If Mithrandir was the Valar’s last attempt to help, then either they are losing their power, or they no longer care at all.”_

_Thranduil’s slender fingertips brushed Bard’s hair behind his ear. The contact made Bard’s attention snap back to the moment. Suddenly all he could think of was the faint tingling that Thranduil’s fingers had left on his skin._

_“What are you afraid of?” Thranduil whispered, making Bard’s heart beat harder._

_“Everything,” Bard answered breathlessly. “If we are indeed alone and helpless, what hope is there left for us? I don’t want to see our world burn...”_   


_“Do you have no faith in yourself? In me? We might be forsaken but we are not alone as long as we stand together,” Thranduil’s elegant hands enclosed his jaw and the elf tenderly guided his face around. “You are wrong to think of yourself as helpless. I can see in your heart and I can see purity, beyond your mortal kin and superior to that of some of the greatest of elves. I have fought against evil for two long ages of this world, and through those times I felt that I was alone. But I have found you now, and we are given this opportunity.”_

_Thranduil’s attention was so singularly pinned on Bard that the King of Dale could hardly breathe._

_“I want you to take it,” Thranduil said. “We might never be given another chance.”_

_“Do you truly believe that this is right?” Bard asked._

  
_“Yes,” Thranduil said and he slowly leaned in, closing the distance between their lips._

_With the feel of that perfect mouth against his own, Bard gave in completely. In that moment he no longer cared about the ring, the responsibility or the motivation behind Thranduil’s words. All he cared about was the silken feeling of the Elven King’s pale hair against his roughened fingertips as he pulled him closer and crushed their mouths together._

_He could taste the wine they had shared on Thranduil’s lips as the Elven King pulled him down on top of him. Bard kissed his way from Thranduil’s mouth to his jaw and neck until the elf’s back arched up with a quiet hiss of pleasure. Quickly, the King of Dale’s hands undid Thranduil’s golden robes, breaking any buttons and claps that got in the way. It felt as if he had waited decades for that moment and he couldn’t spare even a second longer on uncooperative buttons._

_Before Bard could drink in his fill of Thranduil’s naked form, the Elven King’s hand buried in his dark hair and pulled so that their mouths could meet once again for a kiss. The elf’s tongue invaded his mouth and Bard lost sense of balance and direction until he felt his back hit the edge of the bench and his ass the floor. Thranduil straddled him, completely bare, with the exception of the crown of wood and living flowers, which still managed to balance on his head. The elf’s skin was flushed with arousal and Bard’s mouth fell agape as he noticed Thranduil’s fully hard length smudging clear liquid against Bard’s most impressive kingly attire._

_“I’ve dreamt of this,” Bard rasped, eyes roaming insatiably over the Elven King’s body._

_“So have I,” the Elven King breathed._

_Bard’s heart leapt and he wondered if it was true. Nothing betrayed Thranduil’s true thoughts. Instead what Bard noticed was that he was slowly removing the intricate dragon brooch from his chest and then moving to unclasp his belt and part his robes. Suddenly Thranduil’s hands froze and with a jolt Bard realized that his gaze had zeroed on the Ring. Before anything could be said, Thranduil hooked a finger around the chain and swung the ring over Bard’s shoulder, to hang behind his back. Then he proceeded to pull down the King of Dale’s trousers revealing his flushed manhood. Slowly, Thranduil wrapped his long fingers around it and began teasing and stroking in equal measures. Bard closed his eyes and let his head fall back with a groan._

_“Is that what you dreamt of,” the Elven King whispered in Bard’s ear as his hand worked. His blonde hair was spilling around his head, long locks caressing Bard’s bared shoulders and neck._

_“Yes, yes,” Bard panted, his eyes tightly shut with pleasure. “This and so much more...”_

  
_“In that case, allow me to give you more,” Thranduil said and Bard nodded without hesitation._

_His heart felt like it would burst from nervousness and anticipation, knowing full well what Thranduil was asking. Bard lifted himself to his knees and shoved off the majority of his clothing before allowing the Elven King to maneuver him face first into the bench. On his knees and with his pants halfway down his legs, Bard’s heart pounded as he waited for Thranduil to retrieve a vial of oil and remove his rings before slicken his fingers and beginning to massage his entrance._

_Bard stiffened against the intrusion. He had never experienced anything similar, even if he knew what to expect. The stretch was something painful but he bore it like a man, without a sound or a complaint. Thranduil pulled out his fingers and Bard heard the sound of the elf slicking his length generously before aligning with Bard’s entrance. The wet sounds only fueled the King of Dale’s arousal, and he wanted what was to come even if it was all so foreign and different to all he had previously known._

_When the elf began entering him Bard instinctively tried to fight the invasion but the pressure increased until in one sudden moment, his body capitulated and both shouted as Thranduil’s hips smacked against the back of Bard’s. Involuntary tears streamed from Bard’s eyes, but he held back any more noises as he tried to catch his breath against the pain._

_“Bard,” Thranduil rasped. “Do you still want this?”_

_The feeling of being so full was both exhilarating and agonizing and Bard wasn’t sure if he could handle what was to come, but he was too aroused to stop._

_“Yes,” Bard breathed._

_Thranduil slowly moved, sliding back and forth through Bard’s too tight entrance. It hurt like hell but there was an undercurrent of pleasure, the likes of which Bard had never imagined and it set his blood aflame._

_“Faster,” Bard urged hoarsely._

_Thranduil slammed into him all the way, and this time the shout coming from Bard sounded more like ecstasy than pain. They moved together and with each new thrust of their bodies, the noises they made got louder and the rhythm faster. Bard tried to keep meeting each thrust, but it didn’t take long before he was overwhelmed by the feeling of what Thranduil was doing inside him and his arms gave out. He buried his moans in the cushions beneath him as the Elven King rode him. Pleasure and surrender were an intoxicating mixture, and after just a few more thrusts, he felt embarrassingly close to his edge._

_The elf’s rhythm, while powerful and fast, quickly became erratic and it wasn’t long before he let out an unbidden cry, squeezing Bard’s shoulder painfully as he convulsed with pleasure. That’s all it took for Bard and fisting his own length he finished just a few moments later._

_When he came out from his reverie, he felt Thranduil falling against his back. Small trembles and jolts of bliss still shook the Elven King and Bard could feel the frantic fluttering of the elf’s heart against his spine. Thranduil was still making small noises of pleasure when he finally pulled away and rolled over. Bard turned to see him lean against the bench. His long eyelashes were fluttering against his flushed cheekbones and his lips were red and swollen, hanging agape while he took in calming breaths._

_Slowly he half opened his eyes and looked through those dark eyelashes. His pupils were blown wider than any Bard had ever seen before. The elf looked completely ruined and the satisfaction seemed to still be lingering in his veins._

_Bard traced the blush from his high cheekbones to his pointy ears, which burned almost crimson from arousal._

_“Does pleasure subside so quickly in humans,” Thranduil exhaled breathlessly. His body shuddered once again and Bard couldn’t stop himself from leaning in to kiss the elf’s exposed neck. Thranduil jolted from overstimulation and pushed Bard back, laughing in a way that made Bard raise an eyebrow._

_“If pleasure last so long in elves, then I have an idea of how you fill your eternity,” Bard teased._

_“You are wrong,” Thranduil huffed out. He looked at Bard with an unguarded expression. “We do this but a few times in our lives. I have only done it once before.”_

_Bard knew that the surprise was showing on his face. It seemed to sober Thranduil up._

_“It’s the way of my people,” Thranduil explained. “On my marriage, we wanted to beget a child. We did... The time for another never came.”_

_Bard nodded once, gulping hard, uncertain if he completely understood or how to take the new information._

_“Come,” Thranduil rose to his feet, dismissing the topic. He offered Bard a hand. “Stay with me tonight.”_

_Bard allowed the Elven King to take him to his bedchamber and collapse on the bed next to him._

_Thranduil drifted into a trance-like state, not before murmuring something about elven sleep being different from that of men._

_Despite the satisfaction and the lingering blissful feelings that warmed his body, the dawn found the King of Dale sleepless._

_…_

_“You only want me for the ring,” Bard blurted out as soon as the Elven King emerged from the bed chamber dressed only in a light robe, tied at his waist by a string._

_Bard had redressed into last night’s garments and was waiting by the dying embers of the fireplace in the Fire Hall._

_“Is that what you think?” Thranduil leaned against the arch that separated his bedchamber from the hall. “You must have a very lowly opinion of me.”_

_“Don’t toy with me,” Bard growled, avoiding to look at the Elven King. “What else would you want of me? Without this ring, I am hardly the ally you have dreamt of. Besides this power, I have nothing to give you. You possess far more influence, power and wisdom than I could ever hope to achieve. I don’t have the beauty of your kind either. I don’t even have a long enough life to be worth the trouble. So tell me what else could it be?”_

_When a silence stretched Bard steeled himself and looked at the elf’s face. Thranduil’s expression had suddenly become as cold and unreadable as a marble statue. Bard had not seen him so for many years and wondered if he had truly offended the Elven King._

_“Does my will not factor at all into your equation?” Thranduil asked._

_“You were the one who taught me what a King should be, and you told me that personal afflictions, desires and needs have to be set aside in favour of the interests of one’s Kingdom.”_

_“In this case, it is safe to say that the King’s needs coincide with his Kingdom’s,” Thranduil said._

_“Is that so,” Bard chuckled mirthlessly._

_He got up from his seat by the fireplace._

_“Well, you are in luck,” he continued, unable to fully hide the bitterness from his tone. “The men of Dale don’t forget their allies and our loyalty is true. We will help you purge Dol Guldur, as promised. After that, consider our debt to the elves paid.”_

_Thranduil’s body had gone tense and his lips a thin line. However, his eyes didn’t betray a thing. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm and even._

_“Of course.”_

_After their exchange a thrall escorted Bard to his guest quarters, in order to change into his armour and get ready for the march into the woods._

_As he removed his clothes, Bard caught a glimpse of himself in the polished mirror to his side. The elf had left no visible marks on him, however the King of Dale felt as if they should be there. The cursed ring, which had caused everything was dangling on a string against Bard’s well-defined chest and Bard had never hated it more._

_With self-hatred Bard remembered that he had craved to be used. He had been drunk, had not thought clearly, but those were just excuses. He had wanted what had happened, his heart was breaking, but his body traitorously still wanted more. Even in the morning, seeing Thranduil’s bare chest, while he strolled around in that flimsy morning robe of his, all Bard wanted to do was yank it off him and claim the elf in the same way that he had been claimed the night before. Instead of being sated, the craving had settled into Bard’s gut and he knew it was a matter of time before it became a problem again._

_Once he finished putting on his black armour, Bard regarded himself in the mirror one more time. He would do this thing for Thranduil, use the power of the Ring to destroy whatever evils lived in Dol Guldur. After that, he was going to throw the thing into the deepest, darkest hole he could find and return to Dale to grow old in peace._

_That’s what Bard promised himself._

_***_


	3. They That Sow the Wind Shall Reap the Whirlwind

“A journey through Mirkwood has never been a light trek, and where the company of elves and men were going, the path became more traitorous by the step,” Gandalf continued. “Dol Guldur is a cursed place and its sickness spreads into the forest for miles in every direction. In those days there were creatures of unnamed horror that haunted those woods, snatching hapless travellers and lone elves who strayed too far from the path. No one ever found their remains, however the closer to Dol Guldur, the more the forest reeked of blood, fear and decay.

 

“I do not have much information about how the expedition went. All I know is its tragic end, which leads me to believe that Bard used the ring on that fateful battle and his will finally broke. Does anyone here have anything to add? Legolas, did you not march with your father that time?”

 

All eyes turned to the Elven Prince, whose fair hair and completion resembled his father’s, but in a kinder, younger way.

 

“Alas, I was there on that cursed expedition,” Legolas lamented. “However I do not think I can offer much more than what you already said, Mithrandir. I can confirm that I saw with my own eyes how Bard changed, however at the time I did not know of the existence of this ring. To us it looked as if he was possessed by some form of dark sorcery. That is all I can say.”

 

“On the contrary, Legolas. Any detail you could offer might help us detangle the entirety of this story. Surely now that you know of the ring some oddities are starting to make sense to you? Tell us what happened from beginning to end.”

 

“I can tell you of our trek to Dol Guldur and the battle, which happened there, but I still do not understand what you hope to glean from the tale of those misfortunes,” Legolas said.

 

“I would also like to hear the story,” Boromir interjected. “Perhaps you are reluctant to tell us what happened, because you are trying to hide how the Elven King pushed Bard into using the ring?”

 

“If you are going to insult my father, do it outright, but do not hold me accountable for my actions afterwards,” Legolas said.

 

“I meant no disrespect, Prince, however the story we have heard so far has made me very suspicious regarding your father. Why should we trial only the mortal man and completely ignore the part, which the elf has played?”

 

“Because it was not the elf, who turned into a monster,” Legolas sneered.

 

“Perhaps not outwardly,” Boromir challenged.

 

Before anyone could say anything Legolas’ bow was drawn and an arrow pointed at Boromir’s eye.

 

Suddenly a tall man with dark hair and grey eyes rose off his seat and put a hand on the Elven Prince’s shoulder. The stranger had sat through the council as quietly as a shadow, yet there was a noble presence to him, which seemed to calm the elf down. The mysterious man spoke something in elvish so softly that only Legolas heard him, but whatever was said, the Prince lowered his bow.

 

“I will tell you my story,” Legolas said, his eyes not leaving Boromir’s. “May it disperse your foul suspicions regarding the Elven King.

 

“We journeyed through the woods for four days and three nights before on the forth night we camped on the outskirts of Dol Guldur. A particular smell reeked, worse than anything I had ever sensed in my life. It was then that I noticed that Bard was different. He was irritable and restless. It was as if the smell was affecting him. He disappeared somewhere on his own, and I noticed that my father seemed perturbed...

 

“ _‘Should we send a search party?’_ I asked after a time.

 

“ _‘No need. He will be alright,_ ’ he said.

 

“As if summoned King Bard reappeared. He sneaked in on me, almost as if one moment he wasn’t there and on the next he appeared. I didn’t think much of it at the time, except that his return did nothing to ease my father’s wary mood...

 

***

 

_The sight of Bard scared Thranduil. The closer their party had drawn to Dol Guldur, the less Bard had slept or eaten. Thranduil had watched him from the corner of his eyes the entire time, seeing how Bard’s frame seemed to crumble when he thought no one was looking._

_Thranduil felt helpless. He had known the risk and he had also known that there was little choice in the matter. If they didn’t try to stop the evil, which tainted Mirkwood, soon it was going to spread too close to his people’s territory. Bard had to try, for if he didn’t, not long after all the free people of the North were going to be overcome by what was brewing in the darkened pits of Dol Guldur. Thranduil had felt it in the wind, had heard the whispers of the trees, and for too long had tried to fight against the force, which was too much even for his elven warriors’ vallor. Bard’s ring was the only answer, Thranduil knew that, the same way he knew that it was also the cause. It had been an age, since the Elven King had seen such evil - it was as if something attracted the forces of the enemy towards the North and it didn’t take a wiseman to guess what that could be._

_But most of all, he hated that the burden had befallen the man who had swept into his life and chased the dark clouds away, revealing the brilliant light of the stars once again. Thranduil had long lost hope that he could ever love again, and while that unwanted, foolish hope had returned and settled in his heart, his mind knew that it was like a tree blooming on a warm winter’s day - beautiful, yet doomed to remain fruitless once the chill returned to wither the fragile petals away._

_And yet, despite centuries of composure and command, the Elven King could not reign over his heart. Regardless of the words of rejection, Bard had done nothing to avoid him during their expedition. It would have been an easy way out, if only Bard had remained cold towards him, perhaps Thranduil could have cut his losses and made himself forget what had happened between them. Quite the opposite, Bard had taken every opportunity to touch and kiss him when they were out of sight and the Elven King had been unable to resist, feeling the bone-deep connection, which formed between elves upon accepting a spouse, get stronger and delve deeper into his already ensnared heart._

_However, as they neared Dol Guldur, Bard’s character changed. The days passed and the attraction, mixed with wariness towards the Elven King had turned into anger, and when they risked to stray away from the group, in order to share a few moments alone, the passion in his kisses had began to turn from revering to vindictive. When Bard kissed him, Thranduil couldn’t help but feel as if he was punishing him for something._

_..._

_It was the fourth night and they were on the outskirts of Dol Guldur. Its evil influence was stronger than ever. Bard had been disappearing through the day, using the ring recklessly and unnecessarily. It did not bode well and set Thranduil on edge, yet he had refrained from commenting._

_Later that night the King of Dale asked for a private moment. Thranduil lead Bard in the direction opposite of their destination, hoping that the distance would help clear the man’s head. There was something off about Bard, and while Thranduil couldn’t quite place it, it made him wary._

_They walked under the crooked Mirkwood branches, which seemed to lean down towards them heavy with moss and creeping vines, guided only by Thranduil’s inane connection with the forest. The Elven King spread his awareness around them, letting it guide him through the impenetrable darkness. The forest was sick, and the closer they got to the source of that malady, the harder it became for Thranduil to trust his senses._

_It was deathly quiet and Bard’s silence was strange and unsettling, as was that of the forest. The Elven King felt that something was wrong just as his awareness collided with a foul force, which seemed to be charging through the forest towards them. It flooded around them, briefly crashing against Thranduil’s will like a tidal wave against an island, but its taint was too vile to withstand and Thranduil violently severed his connection, staggering a bit in the stale air. The feeling of disorientation was odd and unfamiliar, as was the rise of alarm in his heart. Drawing a controlled breath, he was about to propose to go back when without a warning his arm was roughly seized._

_The Elven King’s instincts kicked in and he fought, grappling with Bard, pushing and pulling until they toppled to the ground. Bard’s face was covered in shadow, but there was no mistake that there were flickers of red in his eyes. Horrified, Thranduil struggled, but the malicious force fuelled Bard’s strength and drained the elf’s, and soon he found himself on his back beneath Bard, whose hands tightened on his throat._

_“What are you doing!?” Thranduil struggled for air and his vision began to swim._

_All he could see was the dark silhouette of Bard, and the darkness around him, which had thickened into something rotten, with a life of its own that fed on the light. And in that moment he saw them, dark shadows, which clung around Bard like a cloak of gloom, their sticky tendrils clinging to his skin and hair. In that murk, the only light came from Thranduil’s own skin, which glowed in a last attempt of the light to defeat the dark._

_“Bard, it’s me...” Thranduil forced out of his constricted throat._

_Bard didn’t seem to recognise him. He only strengthened his hold, and Thranduil felt tears roll down from his eyes. His mind was becoming addled and he couldn’t feel the pain anymore. The darkness was retreating and all he could see were flashes of light, flashes of familiar faces, Legolas, his wife, and Bard. Bard’s smile, that first glance between them, that night in the palace… It could have been so much more, it could have been forever, it could have been…_

_“Bard,” he choked out almost unconsciously, “Please stop, this is not you… Bard, please… I love you”_

_Suddenly the hands on his throat retreated and Thranduil’s chest fought for breath. The elf’s head was still turning when he felt Bard’s gentle arms around him, lifting him up and cradling his frame._

_‘I am sorry, I am so sorry,’ Bard was repeating. ‘I don’t know… I don’t know what has come over me…’_

_“Hush,”Thranduil managed, his senses returning. “Hush.’‘_

_They kissed and Bard was shaking, tears streaming freely from his eyes. When Thranduil looked again, the murk had retreated and he could see faint moonlight break through the dark tree branches, however he could also see, as if out of the corner or his eyes, shadows flickering around the edges of Bard’s form._

_‘Have you forgotten what rings of power do to humans? Have you forgotten the Nine?’ Gandalf’s voice rang in Thranduil’s head and he cursed the Wizard, but more than anything he cursed himself._

_“We need to leave this place,” Thranduil said with resolve. “I don’t want you to go any further!”_

_“Yes,” Bard whispered, stumbling to his knees and giving Thranduil his hand to help him up. “I think you are right.”_

***

 

“A shadow fell over the forest on that last night near Dol Guldur,” Legolas continued his side of the story. “It was as if a dark sorcery blocked the moon and the stars and beneath the trees an evil murk clouded both vision and mind. Everything stood still, not even a gust of wind moved and it was deadly quiet. I felt deep in my heart that my father was in peril and when I didn’t find him anywhere in our camp, I wanted to run into the forest. I would have had not Feren stopped me:

 

“ _‘Don’t go! You will get lost in this unnatural darkness,’_ he said. _‘There is madness in the air and it wants us to run in different directions. Stay with us! Stay, the mortals need us or they would go insane.’_

 

“And certainly, the human soldiers were starting to lose their minds. Some of them threw themselves on the ground and covered their eyes and ears, others began thrashing around and few even managed to run into the forest before we could stop them, never to be seen again.

 

“The horror only lasted a few minutes, but for me it felt as if it lasted hours. My blood was screaming to go to my father and just as I could bear to wait no longer, the darkness passed.

 

“When Thranduil reappeared, Bard was with him and looked more worn out and lost than I had ever seen him. They announced that we would camp through the night, and retreat at the first light of dawn.

 

“ _‘We would leave sooner, but it is far too dangerous to wander the forest at night,_ ’ my father said and no one questioned the sudden change of plan. The men of Dale seemed to only return to their senses when they heard those news. And so we remained in camp for the night…”

 

***

 

_Thranduil could not rest and at the sound of someone approaching his meagre travel tent, he reached for his sword. It was Bard’s voice that asked for permission to enter and the Elven King granted it._

_Once Bard was inside, there was barely any space for him to stand higher than on his knees inside the small, portable housing, and he was pretty much at the foot of Thranduil’s make-shift bed._

_‘I want to apologise,’ Bard said._

_‘I should be the one asking for forgiveness, I shouldn’t have asked you to come here’ Thranduil said as he sat up, the furs that made up his mattress sliding down to revealing his naked chest. Bard’s eyes slipped down for a split second before pointedly turning his attention to the elf’s face._

_Even though it had been just a glance, an answering longing quickly became evident in Thranduil’s eyes._

_“Did anyone see you coming here?” he asked._

_“I would think not,” Bard licked his lips. “But this is really a terrible idea. We are hardly away from danger…”_

_“I know, and there is a shadow lingering in my mind. I need something to sooth my nerves,” Thranduil said and lowered himself on one elbow, tilting his head with a smirk._

_“Don’t you have wine for that?” Bard raised an eyebrow._

_“We don’t carry enough wine to drown my worries,” Thranduil said, gathering his long hair away from his neck and letting it fall over one shoulder. Beneath the furs his legs moved, one knee rising and spreading away from the other._

_“I hurt you,” Bard said, looking at the fresh bruises on the Elven King’s neck mournfully. “That thing… whatever it was, could return.”_

_“I am far from defenceless. You got me by surprise, that’s all,” Thranduil assured him._

_“Somebody could hear us,” Bard protested but it sounded weak._

_“I wouldn’t worry too much about that. I can be quiet. Can’t you?”_

_Bard still hesitated, and when he spoke his eyes would not meet Thranduil’s._

_“There is something else I wanted to ask you,” he said. “Did you mean... what you said to me earlier?”_

_Thranduil’s throat constricted. The unwitting confession. Any elf would have known already, however to Bard it had been those words that had brought meaning to the act. Thranduil wasn’t ready to voice how he felt, he didn’t want to be made so vulnerable. Nor was he sure that the human could fully comprehend._

_“Let’s not waste our breath on talking,” Thranduil said, reaching for Bard, but the King of Dale caught his hand._

_“I would still like a straight answer,” he said, even though his eyes were darkening with lust. “I want to understand what you meant.”_

_“And you have my answer - I want you. Is it truly so difficult to see?”_

_“I don’t doubt your want, I have felt your desire...”_

_“And now I want to feel yours,” Thranduil said, pulling Bard towards him. “Take me, if you will, or go. I am wary of these games.”_

_Without another word, Bard yanked him forward and crashed their lips together._

***

 

“That night I stayed guard with an uneasy mind,” Legolas recalled. “The darkness, which surrounded our camp seemed to obstruct vision and sound alike. It was in that deadly quiet that I was guarding the northern flank of the camp. I was just finishing my patrol when I noticed something stir on the eastern side. I readied my weapons and approached with care.

 

“I spotted one of the other guards patrolling close to the treeline, but as I turned my gaze away to survey for the other, I more perceived than saw him disappear amongst the trees as if yanked by an unknown hand. My intuition told me that something was wrong and I hurried to wake the others.

 

“I alarmed the soldiers but while all the elves silently readied their weapons, most of the men of Dale grumbled about false alarm and that they had sensed no sign of an enemy. It became apparent then that Bard was missing. He tended to sleep amongst his men, yet his travel mattress was left empty.  

 

“Before we started searching for him, the maiden warrior Dorogwen returned from checking the southern and western posts and reported that the guards, one elf and two men had gone missing.

 

“To me, it was obvious that something foul was at foot, however Bard’s men refused to be called to arms by anyone but their leader.

 

“ _‘Where is King Bard? Lord Bard?’_ some were calling him, however most seemed convinced that he had merely went to relieve his bladder.

 

“ _‘I don’t like any of this, it is too quiet,'_  I said to Feren.

 

“ _‘This is unnatural, some form of sorcery,’_ one of Dale’s captains said and alas, he was right..."

 

***

 

_Bard’s hand stifled Thranduil’s cries as he took him. The moisture of the elf’s mouth smeared over the man’s work-hardened fingers, while Thranduil panted, trying to keep up with the way Bard slammed into him with the sure rythm born of years of experience._

_The elf’s eyes rolled behind his tightly shut eyelids. The human knew just how to build up their pleasure and hold off the inevitable end. He worked Thranduil up to a frenzy, just to slow down and deny him his completion again and again, pushing the Elven King to the very verge of sanity._

_“Don’t stop,” Thranduil whispered against Bard’s palm._

_“Not yet, my King, I’m not finished with you,” Bard breathed. “I want you to feel this tomorrow…”_

_He let go of Thranduil’s jaw, gathered his hair in a fist and pulled the elf’s head back, causing him to whimper with need. With his other hand he gripped the Elven King’s hip, holding him in place to angle his hard thrusts in just the right way to make Thranduil’s legs shake._

_“Oh fuck,” Bard cursed as he pulled Thranduil’s hair harder, making him arch his back._

_The Elven King could hardly keep quiet any more, mindless of their surroundings and the world outside. He was so close, aroused by Bard’s possessive treatment and the rough touch to his hair. He was not used to being handled that way and it made his senses reel._

_Desperate for release, Thranduil’s body clenched against Bard until the man keened, grabbing a hold of the elf’s hips with both hands and thrusting urgently. All it took was just a few well-aimed movements and the Elven King came with a broken scream. Bard’s body kept moving for a few more seconds before he too shouted, stilling his movements with a final hard thrust before crumbling over Thranduil._

_There were voices outside that were only now beginning to register in the elf’s ears. Suddenly there was a flurry of movement - Bard was getting dressed in a hurry and shaking him but it was hard to comprehend his words. Thranduil’s eyes still saw everything too bright, too vibrant and he felt too content to move. Pleasure was still simmering in his veins and little else mattered, but Bard seemed adamant on trying to dress him, pulling a robe over his shoulders, shoving his pants into his hands, shouting something..._

_Suddenly the tent flap flew open and Legolas barged in calling his name. He was covered in dark blood, not his own, but what really jolted Thranduil was how his son’s eyes darted over the scene in an uncomprehending fashion several times before shock pulled on all over his features. And then horror passed through Thranduil as well, finally realizing what his son was seeing._

_Legolas was the first to recover, his expression turning stony and looking away._

_“I will guard outside, get dressed!” he rasped and disappeared behind the flap._

 

***

 

“None of us perceived the enemy before they had fully surrounded us. They were suddenly upon us from all sides and ghouls and goblins kept coming from underneath the darkness of the trees in much greater numbers than our forces. The fires of our torches fell trampled beneath enemy feet and in the darkness a chilling fear gripped everyone’s hearts. Shouts came from all around - it was as if the evil in the air made us lose our senses. I fought, slashing foul creatures in every direction, while trying to make my way to my father’s tent, afraid that the sorcery in the air had made him blind and deaf to the danger.

 

“I found him unharmed and he joined me to fight side by side,” Legolas’ added stiffly, his eyes looking at something on the floor.

 

“What about Bard?” Boromir asked. “Did he reappear?”

 

“I saw Bard but only briefly. He looked uninjured and ready for a fight. However, after that I didn’t see him at all. Based on what I learned here, I presume this must have been the moment when he decided to use the ring to defend us from the enemy. Sadly, it cost him dearly…”

 

***

 

_It all happened so fast._

_“I’m sorry,” Bard pulled out the ring._

_“DON’T,” Thranduil shouted, but it was too late. The flap of the tent flew on its own and Bard was gone into the fray._

_Outside the tent Legolas was fighting three goblins when Thranduil emerged clad only in tunic and leggings and jumped to his son’s aid with both his swords. With two smooth movements he slashed their heads clean off their shoulders._

_“Legolas,” he began pleadingly._

_“Not now,” Legolas growled as he ran towards another opponent. “We will talk later.”_

_Thranduil felt relief, even though he wasn’t entirely certain what that conversation was going to be like. At least it Legolas was still speaking to him. He might have expected much worse._

_The darkness around them seemed to change and it looked as if a stronger power was summoning and turning it against their enemy. Shadows flew around in a fury and the goblins, and even the ghouls, screamed in horror. The clouds which covered the horizon cleared and the brightness of the stars lit the clearing, giving the elves an advantage._

_“A Elbereth,’” someone’s cry echoed and renewed strength and courage made the elven warriors fly at their enemy._

_However, even with Bard’s power on their side, they were vastly outnumbered and the battle was a bitter one. Most of the men of Dale perished and many of the elves lost their lives as well._

_Once the last of the foul creatures fell and the shadows dispersed, Thranduil looked around but saw no trace of Bard._

 

***

 

“It must have been his influence that turned the shadows on our side,” Legolas recalled. “At the time, I only knew that he had disappeared, because no matter how we called him, he didn't answer, and we didn’t find his corpse anywhere. My father’s search for him was desperate and we all thought he had gone mad when he suddenly announced that he was going to Dol Guldur by himself to retrieve King Bard.

 

“I tried to dissuade him, but he was relentless and when I saw that I couldn’t stop him, I followed him against his orders along with five of his best and most loyal elves...”

 

***

_The ruins of Dol Guldur were oozing with evil and horror so thick that Thranduil could taste it on his tongue. He had changed into his silver armour before venturing to find Bard. If his heart was correct, the evil that dwelled in that place had defeated his lover’s will and had attracted him to the ruins where Sauron had once hidden._

_The silence of the abandoned fortress felt loaded, like the calm just before a storm. Thranduil hoped that Dol Guldur’s pits had already emptied and that he wouldn’t have to fight his way through, even if he was prepared to do that and more to get to Bard._

_With footsteps as quiet as the whisper of dry leaves against ancient stones, Thranduil ascended the winding stairs to the highest of the ruined halls. Where once had been high vaults, now there were only open skies, the ceilings and walls wasted to time and battle long ago. It was still night, but somewhere far away to the east, a blood red dawn was beginning to brighten up the horizon._

_There was no sight of the King of Dale and Thranduil’s desperation increased._

_“Bard,” he cried, his voice echoing eerily amongst the ruins._

_He shouted again, looking around in all directions for a sign. None came and he only knew that he was crying when his vision smeared._

_‘Not again, not this, not like this...’_

_The Elven King had promised himself that it would never happen again, and yet it was as if history was repeating itself. Had he not lost his wife in the same way? Was he cursed to forever fail to protect the ones, whom he loved?_

_“I am here,” a voice that seemed to vibrate through the very stone he stood upon sounded from somewhere close and incredibly far away. It was not a voice he recognized, and yet he knew exactly to whom it belonged._

_“Bard,” he turned, both relieved and horrified of what he would see._

_It was the King of Dale that stood at the top of a broken stairway, which lead only to the chasm beneath it. His cloak was flying around him, carried by a frozen wind, which seemed to haul from the depths of the gaping trenches of Dol Guldur. But it was as if Bard couldn’t feel it’s chill. His back was turned towards Thranduil and he faced the nothingness beyond._

_“Bard,” Thranduil called, his voice breaking. “Come! We must leave this accursed place before it is too late!”_

_“It is already too late,” Bard whispered, yet his voice seemed to carry unnaturally and echo around Thranduil, who trembled in fear even as he refused to lose hope of bringing his lover back._

_“It is never too late,” Thranduil took a shaky step towards the staircase, then another one with more determination. “Cast away the ring and let us go! Whatever evil has come over you, it can heal - I will heal you!”_

_“Fool,” Bard sneered. “Can’t you see that I don’t want to go back! Flee, or face my wrath!”_

_“I am not going anywhere without you,” Thranduil whispered, steeling himself against the fear and walked up the stairs towards Bard._

_“LEAVE!” Bard shouted and spun around, making the Elven King stumble and barely hold his step at the sight of his former love’s face._

_Bard’s features were distorted by a monstrous sneer and his eyes were completely black, even as they emitted a blood red glow. Faced with that glare, the Elven King had to fight to withstand its malice._

_“This is not you!” Thranduil shouted and gathering his resolve, ran up the steps in a final, desperate attempt._

_Bard let out an inhuman blood-curdling screech and jumped upon Thranduil with his long sword. The Elven King met him with his twin blades and their swords began the frantic dance of life and death. Bard was stronger and held the high ground, but Thranduil’s skill and speed were superior and thus they were evenly matched._

_Somewhere below the staircase, Thranduil heard his son’s voice shout his name and from the corner of his eyes he saw Legolas and a band of his best archers standing with their bows drawn, arrows trained on Bard._

***

 

“We tried to keep up with him, but he was swifter and by the time we arrived, he had already engaged in battle with the King of Dale, if only his opponent was no longer Bard the Dragonslayer. It was Bard the Fallen, the Witch King as some called him, a demon-like creature, whose eyes glowed red and his body was covered in shadow. He was coming down like a storm upon my father, raining blows with inhuman speed, strength and malice.

 

“He screeched when he saw us and his voice was so horrifying, that several of my archers dropped their bows and covered their ears, shaking with terror. My bow quivered so hard, I wasn’t certain that if I let the arrow loose it wouldn’t hit my father by mistake.  Amongst the monster’s screeching, I swear I could hear laughter and taunting words, which I could not comprehend, and then he renewed his attack upon Thranduil. Out of nowhere goblins appeared and attacked us, so I had to defend the ones, who were too petrified to fight, but I never lost sight of my father.

 

“He fought valiantly, however I saw him still his blade several times when he could have slayed the creature, which Bard had become. I knew that he wanted to save him, because I could hear his voice speaking words intended to sooth, but they fell on deaf ears.

 

“As the last of the small band of goblins fell, I looked to my father locking swords with Bard. They seemed evenly matched, yet in one terrifying moment, Bard’s hand, swift as a snake, pulled a dagger from his belt and was just about to stab Thranduil in the gut when, he screamed and threw the blade away as if burned. The knife fell down the stairs, and we saw that it was of elven make.

 

“Using the opening, with a mighty sweep of his swords, my father disarmed him completely before pointing the blade at his throat. For a moment it looked like he had prevailed and that Bard was subdued and ready to surrender. Relief washed over me, because I knew that the monster we saw that day was the same man, whom I had grown to respect. I prayed that he would just take my father’s outstretched hand and come with us to be cured of whatever evil had taken over his body.

 

“However that was not to be. Bard took Thranduil’s hand and crumbled into my father’s arms. We had our arrows ready, even though it seemed as if he was merely weeping… But then he turned his head and kissed my father before pushing him off the edge into the dark fall below.”

 

“He kissed him, you say,” Gandalf spoke first after Legolas had went quiet, no doubt lost in that dark memory.

  
“He did. I think it was meant as a distraction, and it worked. It delayed our arrows and Thranduil’s reactions enough for the evil deed to be done. Once it was over Bard disappeared into thin air and the place suddenly became even darker, as if a new evil claimed the old stronghold…”

 

***

_Legolas’ blood froze at the sight of his father being hurled off the edge. The nightmarish moment during which Thranduil fought for balance against all odds seemed to stretch for an eternity, prolonging the young warrior’s terror. Thranduil’s long blond hair flew around his face, and he was still beautiful despite the shock that was painted all over it, from the wide opened eyes to the parted lips. As he fell, his cloak seemed to float around him with the grace and elegance, with which he always moved. In that moment Legolas desperately prayed for a miracle, however the moment passed and Thranduil was gone. As for the anguished scream, which echoed through the ruins, it was Legolas’ own voice, threatening to tear his vocal cords in its intensity._

_Once the Elven King had disappeared into the abyss, the paralysis, which had taken hold of the prince’s muscles finally disappeared. Legolas launched himself towards the monster that had destroyed his father, pushing himself to the limits of his elven speed. His muscles screamed from the exertion, but he was going to have his revenge._

_Bard’s bewitched eyes didn’t even turn to him, instead they remained on the spot where Thranduil had been just seconds ago. Legolas’ knives were already drawn, milliseconds away from the connection with the monster’s flesh but then Bard disappeared and a surge of puissance pushed Legolas back, sending him tumbling down the stairs. It almost sent him over the edge as well, but he managed to grab a hold of a ridge in the old rock and remained hanging until Feren appeared to pull him up._

_“The King!” were Legolas’ first words once he was saved. Looking over the edge revealed nothing, the view of the lower levels was obstructed by an evil mist._

_The search was desperate and they encountered many goblins along the way. Legolas fought recklessly with a raging fire surging through his veins fueled by the thirst for revenge. The adrenaline kept him fighting, pushing the paralyzing grief away until he had found his father’s body, because above all he wanted to get to him before the twisted creatures of Dol Guldur. He could never forgive himself if he allowed them to take him._

_At some point the rest of their fighters appeared together with the remains of the men of Dale. They had found the courage and had come to aid the Kings. Feren explained to the newcomers what had happened, and Legolas was thankful. He couldn’t handle to talk to anyone before Thranduil had been found. With the added numbers it was a matter of time before the Elven King was found and when Legolas heard a cry from a lower level, he ran like a deer, jumping off edges and sliding off arches to get to his father._

_It was the men of Dale who found the Elven King and none of them had dared to approach him first. They all stood with their heads bowed in solemn expressions of grief._

_Legolas ran up to Thranduil, finding him sprawled on his back at the foot of an old tree, which grew amongst the fallen stones of the ruins. There were broken branches around him and bloody scratches over Thranduil’s hands. It was obvious that the tree had cushioned his fall at least somewhat and that he had tried to grab onto its branches to stop his descend. However he had fallen through jagged ruins and had landed amongst fallen stones. Even if the elven body was as light as a feather and as agile as a cat’s, Legolas still had little hope as he kneeled next to his father to check for signs of life._

_When he felt breath against his palm, Legolas choked on a sob of hope and gratitude as fresh tears rolled off his eyes._

_“Ada,” he whispered, this time feeling the ugly wound on his father’s forehead, which he must have received on the way down. It looked and felt bad and after further inspection, Legolas concluded that it was likely the reason for his father’s unconsciousness, because despite falling on a ground littered by stones, his father had avoided most of them, his armour had protected him from the others, and the earth had taken much of the force of the impact. The Elven Prince thanked the Valar and slowly lifted his father, mindful of his bleeding head._

_With the help of the soldiers Thranduil was carried away from Dol Guldur and once the company had put enough distance from that evil place to be safe, they camped and set up Thranduil’s tent where they placed him with their best healer to attend him._

_“How is he,” Legolas asked once the healer came out. He had not moved an inch from his guard at his entrance of his father’s tent._

_“He will be alright,” the elf said. “We just need to wait for his fëa to come back from where it has wondered off to. Perhaps you should attempt to speak to him. Ask him to return.”_

_“Is that going to help?” Legolas tried to hide the dread, which the healers words had brought him._

_“I have done everything I could. From here, it is up to him to choose to awaken.”_

_Legolas nodded, feeling his throat constrict with bitterness and pain. No wonder his father did not want to awake after the betrayal, which had happened. As much as Legolas did not want to think about it, he suspected that Thranduil’s soul nursed an even bigger wound than the physical one on his head._

_With a heavy heart the Elven Prince crawled inside the tiny tent. At the sight of his father’s exposed throat and the bruises on it, which he only now noticed, Legolas began to weep once again. He sat by his father’s head and stroked his beautiful ice-blond hair, uncertain of what to say. In the end he began quietly singing a song, which Thranduil had sang to him a long time ago, when Legolas had still been a small elfling. He had been so frightened and he had missed his mother so much once she was gone, sometimes nothing could ease the pain in his heart but his father’s voice. Thranduil had held him then and he had sang this song, which had the strength to return hope even in the darkest of hours._

_He didn’t know how long he was there, by the time Thranduil stirred his voice had long turned into soft humming and his eyes had become too tired for tears._

_“Ada,” Legolas rasped when he saw his father looking at him, and collapsed over Thranduil, bringing their foreheads together. His father’s hands came around him, cradled his head and stroked his golden blonde hair._

_“Hush, ion-nin, it’s alright, everything is going to be alright,” Thranduil’s voice was unsteady but Legolas felt his heart flutter with relief. His father was back and he wasn’t going anywhere. That was all that mattered._

_***_

“An old tree cushioned his fall, but he was unconscious because of a bleeding wound to the head. It healed once we had taken him away from that dreaded place. We managed to return to our halls without any more confrontations and from there our people escorted the fighters of the Fallen King of Dale back to their borders. I heard that Dale mourned the loss of their King and that his family missed him terribly. We received notice that King Bain was soon after crowned, however he didn’t have a long reign, for he must have been already nearing his seniority and Bard’s grandson Brand succeeded him later.

 

“The ties between our two kingdoms have never been the same since King Bard’s fall. Perhaps Bain blamed my father for the loss of his father. Our truce with Dale is now just a diplomatic one and no friendship ties us. I believe that it wasn’t just Bard’s family who blamed our King for the loss of Bard. I’ve heard that some people blamed my father for ensnaring him in elven sorcerery, something that in their opinion was evident by Bard’s seemingly perpetual youth. In their ignorance, men often blame elves for what they don’t understand.

 

“I can tell you with all certainty that if my father had known what would happen in Dol Guldur, he would have never asked for Bard to follow him there. He tried to prevent disaster, but fate wouldn’t have it any other way. And if that doesn’t convince you, Thranduil wept for Bard, and will continue to mourn him, long past all of his subjects and family would remember him.”

 

“He wept for him?! I for one side with the people of Dale,” Boromir commented. “It was the Woodland King’s fault for leading Bard to his doom. And you cannot convince me that your father felt sorry for his actions, because it is obvious by now that he knew what this ring was and that he used Bard for it. Fools are the men who make friends with the elves!”

 

“Don’t say make conclusions on behalf of our entire race,” the tall man from the North spoke again. “King Thranduil wouldn’t have had solid proof, nor could he had known what would happen when the ring reached Dol Guldur. As for his grief, do not underestimate the degree of elven sorrow. It is deeper than that of men, because it is eternal. I believe Legolas – if anyone is devastated by what happened to King Bard, it must be Lord Thranduil. From the story I have heard so far, it sounds like theirs was a great friendship, the likes of which hasn’t been since Túrin and Beleg.”

 

“I would say the same, but I have long suspected that it wasn’t merely friendship that existed between them. And Legolas said that they kissed, which seems to prove my suspicions,” Gandalf interjected

 

“Why do you keep hanging on to that particular detail,” Legolas asked and he sounded like his patience was wearing thin. “The kiss was hardly shared - it was merely a distraction, and I cannot see what else your suspicions ground upon.”

 

“I keep hanging onto this detail, because it is important,” Gandalf insisted. “A kiss is not the first distraction that comes to a man’s mind, especially when he is trying to fool his enemy. It must have been on Bard’s mind from before, waiting for the moment to happen.”

 

“Even if that is so, and Bard had felt desire for my father, I still don’t see how it is relevant for the bigger picture,” Legolas argued.

 

“And I don’t see why you are so eager to divert the attention from that very crucial detail. Is there something, which you are hiding, Prince of Mirkwood? You have journeyed all the way here to present us the ring as evidence, yet you shy away from telling us the whole story.”

 

“I haven’t hidden anything about that kiss - it was just as I said – Bard seemed to surrender and repent and then that... It startled all of us, and he used the moment to push Thranduil into the abyss. The only reason why I don’t like to discuss this memory is because of the anguish it brings me to remember how close to losing my father I was!”

 

“Calm down,” Gandalf ordered and everyone present froze in an instant, attention turning to the Wizard. “We are not going anywhere with these games. Let me ask you something else instead, and I’d like to have your answer true and straight forward - did you ask your father about the kiss when he recovered?”

 

At Legolas’ silence Gandalf’s bushy eyebrows rose.

 

“My dear elf, stop thinking so hard on how to evade the question. You cannot convince me that you did not. So, come on now, confess what he said to you!”

 

“He didn’t say anything,” Legolas said looking defeated. “But you have to understand, when my father grieves he distances himself from the matter.

 

“ _‘Don’t ask me about Bard,’_ And _‘I don’t want to talk about it.’_ That is what he said to me. I think the memory of Dol Guldur was just too painful for him.”

 

***

 

_After his fall Thranduil had recovered but only physically. It seemed as if something had been shattered in his already jaded heart. He remained outwardly strong, sat on his throne and dined with his advisors. He even marched out into the forest, but never in the direction of the cursed place where King Bard had disappeared._

_“Ada, please,” Legolas refused to be dismissed. “You owe me an explanation.”_

_Thranduil stood frozen with his head bowed down and his back turned to his son. Legolas was used to seeing the sight of those broad shoulders, clad in various shades of finery, however he wasn’t going to back away this time. He wasn’t a child and he didn’t deserve to be treated like one._

_“I won’t judge,” Legolas said very softly. That seemed to be getting a reaction from the King, because his head rose just a fraction. “I just want to know.”_

_“What more do you want to know,” Thranduil whispered. “You saw everything. You know everything…”_

_“How long,” Legolas asked._

_“Just over a year,” Thranduil gritted out._

_Legolas let out a breath, which he didn’t know he was holding. He had feared that it had been going on for longer behind his back and it had pained him to think that his father didn’t trust him._

_“Did you love him,” Legolas asked._

_“Now you are being cruel,” Thranduil’s voice dropped to a dangerous note and he spun around to pin his son with his icy gaze. “Can’t an old elf keep at least something to himself? Or do you want me to drink the bitter poison of pain and humiliation to the very last drop? Isn’t it enough to know what I gave to him right before he betrayed me? Isn’t that enough for you?!”_

_Legolas gulped and tried not to flinch under that gaze._

_“Father, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered._

_“And you didn’t,” Thranduil hissed. “Now are you going to leave or do I have to order you?”_

_With that Legolas turned and left with a very quick step, but made a point not to run like an elfling scolded. He knew then what Bard had meant to his father, even though he regretted having asked._

***


	4. To Get Lost is to Learn the Way

At last Elrond broke the silence that had fallen over the council once the Elven Prince had finished.

 

“I will finish the story, even though most of us already know the final chapter of this tale. Bard the Fallen remained in Dol Guldur for twenty years until he was defeated and captured. For the longest time he remained there in isolation, however the evil inside of him was growing. His dark power began to draw all evil creatures towards him and soon he build an army. Despite his strength and the grudge he must have held for Thranduil, he never once attacked the Mirkwood Kingdom.

 

“Instead he terrorised all other lands towards the south, the east and the west. Lothlorien was attacked many times by his legions of goblins and enchanted humans from the lumberjack villages near the borders of Mirkwood. If it wasn’t for the power of Lady Galadriel, their defences wouldn’t have withstood. And then Bard, who became known as the Witch King, turned his gaze to the west. For the longest time it seemed as if he was idle, however it turned out that he had enslaved the orcs from the tunnels of the once great kingdom of Moria and planned raids on the settlements on the western side of the Misty Mountains. We had no hint of these actions until he attacked us here in Rivendell without warning, and due to our surprise, many perished on that day.

 

“In the past few years, Celeborn, Galadriel and I have fortified our borders and defended ourselves, but we all knew that we were not ready to take on Bard the Witch King in his fortress of Dol Guldur, even if Thranduil choose to support us, which he seemed unlikely to do, since he refused to be involved.

 

“We only felt a chance when the great shadow was lifted a year ago and Bard’s forces were suddenly weakened. He lost his hold on the evil creatures that had once served him, and on the humans, whom he had enchanted. Thus, my Prince Legolas, I have one last question towards you. Can you tell us if that was when Bard surrendered the ring to Thranduil? If so, can you tell us what happened?”

 

“I don’t know,” Legolas said finally. “I wasn’t there and I didn’t know of this ring until my father gave it to me and sent me here.”

 

“You must have some guesses?” Elrond prompted.

 

Legolas’ jaw worked as he seemed conflicted whether to speak or remain silent.

 

“They are just guesses, my Lord. I saw nothing.”

 

“You said Bard came to Thranduil,” Gandalf interjected. “How did you come to know that?”

 

“That’s what my father told me,” Legolas said. “But if you still want a story, I will tell you what I think happened. I believe Bard’s heart was never completely corrupted. He must have harboured some remains of goodness in him, otherwise he would have attacked our Kingdom, and even his own old city of Dale. Perhaps in the end his will prevailed and wanted to be rid of the the ring. He knew that he would have to make himself vulnerable and to surrender, that’s why he went to the only person, whom he still felt he could trust - he sought out my father. That’s what I think happened.”

 

“You keep defending Bard, even though he almost killed Thranduil,” Elrond observed.

 

“It is for my father’s sake,” Legolas said. “He refused to slay him when he had the chance. I don’t doubt that he could have destroyed him once Bard surrendered the ring, however he chose not to. And if my father believes that there is something worth saving in Bard the Fallen, so do I.”

 

***

 

_The first time Bard visited him, it was merely a decade since he had established himself as the new force of Dol Guldur. It hadn’t been hard to sneak into the palace where the Woodland King dwelled. It was as if a force was guiding him to the rooms where his fate had been sealed all those years ago. Thranduil’s entire kingdom was warded, especially his chambers, however the magic barriers did nothing to stop Bard, almost as if he was still welcomed there._

  
_Welcomed, was probably an overstatement, because as soon as he slipped into the Fire Hall like a chilled wind, the Elven King dropped his goblet to the floor, red wine spilling like blood between them. At his command, the embers in the fireplace flickered and died along with all the lights, and Bard’s shade fully materialized into the chamber._

 

_Thranduil stood frozen gazing at him with eyes too big and too bright. There was light shining through him, just as darkness emitted from Bard, and the once King of Dale knew they had become opposites that could never be one again. Yet he had come because he still craved the Elven King’s light and he still wanted his love, with bitterness born out of the pain of knowing that he could never deserve it again._

_He took a step towards Thranduil and the elf’s reaction was to make a dash for his swords. Bard did not stop him, instead he walked slowly after him even as the Elven King pointed one sharp blade at his direction._

_The steel of those magically forged weapons shined with a white fire, which made something deep inside of Bard feel terror, his hand never having fully recovered from the bite of Thranduil’s gifted dagger, which had burned him when he had attempted to raise it against the Elven King. However he approached casually and only stopped when his neck was almost touching the pointy tip of the sword._

_“Is this how you greet you old ally?” Bard grated with dark amusement._

_“This is how I greet my enemies,” Thranduil answered coldly, hitting Bard worse than the promise of the elven steel._

_“I have not come to quarrel,” Bard said and Thranduil laughed derisively._

_“Do you take me for a fool?! I know whom you serve and I will not listen to the poison which you surely plan to spill into my ears.”_

_“You are wrong, because I serve no one but myself,” Bard said. “I have come to tell you that you haven’t left my mind or my heart. I wish you on my side, Thranduil. Have you not seen how powerful I have become? Can you not see that I can challenge our old Enemy, the one who has terrorised this world for so long and be done with him? Haven’t I become the ally, which you always wanted me to be? And if not, wouldn’t you rather side with me than die in your hopeless attempt to resist my forces? They will come, you know that. Why not side with the new power, which will soon rule over the world?”_

_“You are mad if you think you can become anything more than Sauron’s pawn,” Thranduil hissed, never lowering his sword from Bard’s throat. “Even if you have his greatest weapon, how can you hope to ever defeat him?”_

_“I could, with the help of the armies of elves, men and dwarfs!”_

_“The free people will never follow you.”_

_“Then I will make them follow. I will show my supremacy! I would conquer them, and then I would lead their armies against the evil of Mordor! With you by my side, so much bloodshed could be prevented. You could convince the elves.”_

_“No, even if I were by your side, no other elf would follow you, because they would never follow someone who is consumed by the darkness. I was a fool to believe that you could overcome this evil, which now possesses you.”_

_“I have overcome it! I am it’s new master, the ring answers to me now!”_

_“No, it doesn’t,” Thranduil said and there was so much pain in his eyes. “Can’t you see what you have become? You are not the man I once knew. Be gone, because I won’t still my blades for much longer.”_

_“I am that man! I am the same man whom you bent over your damned bench over there! I’m the man who was inside you, whom you kissed at every opportunity you could steal! Does it mean nothing to you? I keenly remember you saying that you loved me, was this another one of your lies? Was it all a game for you?”_

_“No,” Thranduil whispered. His eyes were becoming glassy with unshed tears, but he held his stance firm and his expression stony. “It wasn’t a lie back then. But I hold no more love for you, you who betrayed me…”_

_“Don’t you speak to me of betrayal! I’ve had my fair share at your hand. Yet it has not changed how I feel about you. I still want you, Thranduil. I still love you.”_

_Those words seemed to shock the elf. His mouth was working to form words, but no sound was coming out._

_The wraith chanced a step around the blade’s tip towards the elf who immediately trained the edge of the sword against his neck, but did not put any force into it. When Bard didn’t stop, Thranduil crossed his other sword beneath the outstretched one, creating a barrier in front of his chest._

_“Stay back!” he cried, but the command lacked strength and Bard stalked up to the Elven King, with only a blade separating them._

_“Tell me,” Bard rasped, admiring the beauty of the light which seemed to be filtering through Thranduil’s flesh as if now that the cursed King had become one with the shadows, he could finally see that which was hidden by the flesh – the very essence of the elf, his fëa. “Tell me that you still long for me. And on those sleepless nights, you still dream of me. Tell me that you still love me….”_

_“I,” Thranduil stumbled back but Bard’s arms wrapped around him and pulled until their mouths crashed into a kiss. The touch burned and he let out a hiss of pain from the connection between his deathly cold lips and the elf’s white hot ones. Despite the agony, Bard pushed his tongue into the the Elven King’s mouth, desperately tasting him, even though it destroyed his very essence from within, like two opposing forces canceling each other out._

_Thranduil trashed desperately against him and using his entire strength and the hilts of his swords, managed to shove Bard back. The Elven King retreated until his back hit the carved stone wall. He was coughing, his expression sick, and wretched if he had tasted something foul and poisonous._

_“Stop right there!” he shouted when Bard made another step towards him. “Don’t come near me! You have turned into a daemon!”_

_“This is what I am now! Won’t you have me as I am? Was your love skin deep, Elven King?”_

_To his surprise Thranduil dropped his twin blades to the ground and closed his eyes._

_“Your kiss will kill me. If that is what you want, do it now, I won’t run from you anymore,” he said and stood with his eyes closed and his back against the wall._

_Bard came all the way up to him and looked at the exquisite sorrow written over his face, hesitating. Something inside of him screamed that he wanted the elf dead, he wanted to stab him with his sword, slash off his pretty head, or poison him with his kiss, take him, fuck him against his will and see him wither and the light inside him fade. However there was a stronger voice, one that Bard had almost forgotten, one that called him from days filled with sunshine and nights of stars. It felt like the mist that rose from a lake, somewhere far away, a long time ago. It smelled like the fresh air that blew from the Lonely Mountain on a clear day in Dale. It reminded him of the laughter of three beloved children, the smell of smoked fish and the firm feel of a bow in his hands. It tasted like wine shared and it reminded Bard that love he had felt when he had looked at the light in the Elven King’s eyes._

_He had come so close that his frozen breaths were making the silky hairs of Thranduil’s long hair fan back. He exhaled against the Elven King’s lips, and watched the small ceize of alarm, which formed on the elf’s brow. From this close, the light looked so irresistible it hurt to look at, and it filled Bard’s dark heart with devastating hopelessness._

_With a hiss he drew away, as swift and uncatchable as the night breeze that flew across the tree tops. Thranduil slowly opened his eyes and found himself alone in his darkened quarters. The air was cold and he hurried to light back the flames, his shoulders shaking with equal parts fear, guilt and regret._

_\---_

_The second time that Bard visited Thranduil, it was after he had fulfilled his dark promises about trying to subjugate the free peoples of Middle Earth. He had attacked Lothlorien and Rivendell, however, his force had turned out to be no match for the elven rings, which he discovered were in the possession of Elrond and Galadriel. Another decade had passed and Bard’s spirit had grown even darker and more desolate. There was little left of his sanity, with the last of his hopes turning into black ashes. He realized then that he could never defeat the evil, which gave him power and that he could do little but become its slave._

_He came to Thranduil’s halls, and this time he did not wish to find him, instead he had come with a mission, one last deed that he felt needed to be fulfilled before he could surrender and let the darkness swallow him whole._

_However,Thranduil quickly detected him._

_“Why have you returned,” he asked._

_This time he did not hold a blade, which was rather foolish, for Bard had never been more dangerous and unstable._

_He could barely even see the Elven King anymore, the same way he could barely make out anything in the world, besides the darkness. The elf was like a vessel filled with unattainable, burning light._

_Slowly, Bard approached him and this time Thranduil did not flee from him._

_“Take this, I don’t want it anymore,” the shadow’s voice sounded deadly rough. He reached his ghostly hand, which held the chain on which the ring dangled, unchanged and still so painfully bright._

_“I don’t want it,” Thranduil said retreating from the extended offering._

_“Please,” what once was Bard rasped. “Please take it away from me…”_

_Hearing that voice, something in the Elven King’s eyes changed and with a heavy heart he took the ring into his palm. The shade let go of the chain and turned away, ready to leave._

_“Bard…” the elf’s voice called after him, as if from somewhere far away._

_“Bard is lost. He is no more,” the wraith whispered and then he was gone, back to the darkness that now consumed him._

***

 

“Now let me tell you what I think happened,” Gandalf said. “Indeed Bard’s weakness was Thranduil from the beginning and so it remained even after his spirit was corrupted. I was there to remember how quick he was to trust the Elven King, how he praised his aid, how he craved his presence. I saw it then, and Thranduil must have seen it as well. That is what Thranduil must have used in order to get Bard to use the ring during the Siege of Dale and win the victory. I have no doubt that Bard’s fascination with the Elven King was what drove him to attempt to win the battle of Dol Guldur. However, Bard’s will was defeated in that ancient place of evil, and thus he became the Witch King. After his fall, little was up to Bard’s own desires - he followed the will of the ring’s true master, even if he himself did not know it. The love he must have felt for Thranduil is the only explanation why his heart was preserved for as long as it was, and why he managed to give up the ring in the end.”

 

“You paint a very callous picture of my father,” Legolas commented bitterly.

 

“And wasn’t he callous to use the love and naivety of the King of Dale, regardless of what good he was hoping to achieve?”

 

“The King of Dale wasn’t used! At least not any more than the King of Greenwood was!” Legolas burst out.

 

“Now you are starting to say what you really think,” Gandalf said. “Come on, I think everyone can guess what you’ve been trying to hide. They were lovers, were they not?”

 

“It doesn’t matter what they were,” Legolas said with a defeated expression. “What matters is that my father truly loved Bard, and loves him still. He wouldn’t have sent me here if that wasn’t so.”

 

Several of the elves glared in shock. It was not unheard of an elf and a man to fall in love, however it had never happened between two who could not wed. The idea of love out of marriage was foreign and unsettling to them. At the same time, several of the dwarfs huffed in exasperation and shook their heads at the elves’ reaction, for in their society it was not uncommon for males to find comfort in each other’s arms out of wedlock and without any children in mind.

 

“It matters, because that is the answer to the riddle,” Gandalf said with a soft smile. “It shows that there was purity in their motivations, which otherwise would seem completely irrational or even evil. And if it would ease your heart, it gives me hope, because love is a much better motive than greed or pride. It means that there is still hope for Bard, and indeed for your father.”

 

“Say what you may, Mithrandir, but I shall still lament, because Thranduil is cursed by this union,” one of the elves said in anguish. “No good could ever come of something like it, the same way that no children could ever be begotten. What evil influences elves to go mad when they linger too long around mortals?!”

 

“It is no evil, even though the unions between your two races have seldom ended without tragedy,” Gandalf said. “However, great deeds had also happened because of them. Was it not the union between Beren and Luthien that struck the first blow against the evil of Morgoth? Are you forgetting your own history, for was it not Earendil and his wife Elwing, parents of Elrond half-elf, who sailed to ask the Valar for help and saved the races of Elves and Men from the greatest evil to ever come to this world?”

 

“And excuse me if I interrupt, but love doesn’t always have to be about begetting,” the young ginger dwarf huffed in annoyance. His comment made Legolas smirk despite his pointed dislike of their race.

 

Before the Elves and the Dwarfs could get into a heated argument on the subject Gandalf continued.

 

“Therefore, I believe that although much evil has come from the fates of Thranduil and Bard, a greater good has happened. The One Ring was delivered here today, surrendered by free will first by Bard and then by Thranduil. Without the love which they shared neither of them would have had the strength to give it up, because the will of this ring is more powerful than that of Elves and Men. If it wasn’t for that love, by now Bard would have heeded the call of Sauron and this ring would have returned to its master, and our fates would have been doomed. You should be glad for their union, because it saved us all.”

 

A great weight seemed to have fallen from the shoulders of Legolas, who now stood taller and his gaze seemed clearer. By his side, the Ranger was smiling secretly at some internal thought, while Boromir still didn’t look very convinced, for he didn’t trust the elves and he didn’t understand what outraged them so about the love affair between one of theirs and a human.

 

“Now, we must decide the fate of Bard, the Fallen,” Elrond reminded. “Let us have an hour of thought and when this council reajurns, we will each vote our opinion on whether the man deserves a second chance, or if he would forever be imprisoned with no hope for redemption.”

 

\---

 

An hour later the council reassembled and despite the mixed views, which had been expressed during the hearing, the vote was overwhelmingly in Bard’s favour. His fate was decided – he was to remain in Rivendell and the elves were going to make every attempt to heal his soul.

 

“If he could find peace anywhere on Middle Earth, it would be here,” Elrond promised.

 

The council also decided not to persecute Thranduil any further, for the majority agreed that he had learned his lesson the hard way.

 

Once the matter had been finalized, the fate of the One Ring was decided as well. Curiously, it so happened that a hobbit from the Shire named Frodo Baggins had arrived in Rivendell just a few days before with the most disconcerting tale. Because of his last name, the enemy had somehow come to know of him and had sent the Nine on his trail. Luckily, Frodo was of bright, courageous and inquisitive sort, when faced with the danger his gut had told him to leave the Shire, in order to divert the evil as far away from his beloved home as possible. And he had the wit not to travel alone - three of his closest and most trusted friends had followed him.

 

Together, the hobbits had stumbled upon the ranger Strider in Bree, the same dark haired man, who supported Bard and Thranduil’s cause at the Council that day. Strider had recognized the peril they were in and had lead them to Rivendell to seek advice from Elrond. Ever wise, the half-elf had gleaned that fate was at work and had allowed Frodo to sit at the Council.

 

While the hobbit had stayed silent and listened attentively through the first part of the meeting, he amazed everyone when he expressed his belief that a story began by his uncle Bilbo, was his responsibility to finish. He proposed himself as the ring bearer, and somehow it felt right.

A fellowship formed to assist him on the journey with representatives of all the free races gathered that day. Needless to say, Legolas joined first. From the race of dwarfs, Gimli, whose father was also directly connected to the tale of the ring, decided to go as well. From the race of men, the Ranger, who was actually Aragorn, a direct descendent of Isildur, was a natural choice. Boromir had to travel back to Gondor, and having had dreamt of the halfling and the ring, knew that he was meant to accompany them. Just as Gandalf agreed to lead them, out of nowhere three more hobbits jumped out, Frodo’s friends, and said that they would rather follow him to Mordor than return to the Shire without him.

 

“Nine companions,” Elrond concluded. “You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.”

 

\---

 

Before leaving the Last Homely Home, Legolas wrote a letter to Thranduil, which the Elven King received on one early spring night instead of his son.

 

Thranduil traced Legolas’ elegant script with sadness and longing as he read the words which asked neither for permission nor forgiveness for going against the evils of Mordor and what could easily be the end of his life.

 

And the father realised that he couldn’t protect his son any more – all he could do was wait and hope for his return. Thankfully Thranduil didn’t have to wait long before the war of the ring reached his doorstep and he had to march to the aid of Dale and Erebor. The pain of losing Bard and the fear for Legolas made him fiercer and more dangerous than he had ever been. Those battles are described elsewhere, therefore it is sufficient to say that they were glorious and the alliance between dwarfs, men and elves prevailed against the enemy, which outnumbered them 10:1.

 

Once the war was over, Thranduil waited for news of his son. It was quiet in Mirkwood. The darkness had finally been lifted, but so had the magic. All things seemed to live and decay faster and with the loss of the power of the rings, Thranduil could feel that the world was changing. The time of the elves was up, and word spread that the Valar had opened the straight road to the undying lands once again and little by little his people’s thoughts were starting to turn towards the sea.

 

The Elven King waited for his son to return and on one warm autumn day, he did.

 

Boundless was the joy of the King of Mirkwood once he saw his son. He ran over the bridge to meet Legolas and once he caught sight of his white horse approaching, he stopped and couldn’t stop staring. Legolas was unchanged, and yet he had matured beyond his years. He was no longer a boy, that much was obvious to his father.

 

Legolas leapt from his mount and ran to embrace him.

 

“It is good to see you, Adar,” Legolas said.

 

Thranduil was beyond words.

 

Father and son spend the next days constantly in each other’s company and Legolas told him of all his exploits since he had left Rivendell. Finally on one evening once all the stories had been told and discussed, Thranduil ventured to ask after the fate of Bard the Fallen.

 

When Legolas told him that Bard had been forgiven and was being treated by the healers of Elrond, Thranduil’s heart lightened but it also filled with longing. He grew restless and could no longer remain in his woodland realm. And so he promised himself that once the last of his people had left for the sea, he was going to seek out Bard again.

 

One day Legolas came to him and told him that he wanted to travel. He had made a friend with Gimli and wanted to spend time exploring Middle Earth with him. To his surprise, Thranduil allowed him to leave and gave him his blessings.

 

“If we don’t see each other in Greenwood again, we will meet in the West,” Thranduil said.

 

“Do you plan to sail then?” Legolas asked, almost surprised. He had hoped that his father would heed the call, however he had feared that Thranduil had spent too long on Middle Earth to be able to leave it.

 

“I might, it depends.”

 

“You want to see him again, don’t you,” Legolas said softly. Thranduil’s silence was answer enough. “You could attempt to take him with you. His soul has been scared by the power, which is not from this world. If anywhere he could be healed, it would be in those lands.”

 

“Do you really think that the Valar would allow us this grace? They seemed to have forsaken Middle Earth and the mortals most of all,” Thranduil said and there was something brittle in his voice.

 

“Yes, I think they would,” Legolas said. “At the very least, I think you should try.”

  
On the day Legolas departed, Thranduil remained at the bridge looking after his son for a long time after the sight of him was lost.


	5. Epilogue

The darkness had lifted, slowly he was becoming aware of it. He had lived in a veiled emptiness for so long that he had almost forgotten what the light of day looked like.

 

He first saw it through the window of the room where they had put him, rays of sunshine filtering through leaves, yet he couldn’t see their colour and couldn’t feel any warmth.

 

The days kept passing, and more and more came back to him. Memories of his past life, his children, and grandchildren, all that he had left behind. The battles, the victories, the love, the grief, the heat and the terrible cold, which had gripped him since.

 

During the nights it was worse… A deadly chill crept through his very bones and made him grow restless. It was as if another person cursed at the moonlight, thrashed about and left bloody scratches on the walls.

 

Sometimes he was aware of the elves who cleaned the wounds on his hands and the blood he left in the wake of his fits.  More often he wasn’t aware of anything at all.

 

He didn’t know how many days, weeks, months or years he remained that way until one day he appeared.

 

“Bard,” that voice, which he both loved and despised, the one he would never fail to recognize, was calling him.

 

Slowly, he lifted his eyes to look at the figure of pure light standing in shadow of the doorway. Thranduil shined like a beacon in the darkness, the only true light amongst the darkness of Bard’s existence.

 

“Bard,” a hand reached towards him, but Bard couldn’t help but flee from it. If it came any further it would burn him, it would ruin him…

 

“Bard, please, I will not hurt you,” the voice was saying. “Please, don’t recoil from me, my love.”

 

Love. Did Thranduil still love him? Bard might have forgotten a lot of things, but he remembered Thranduil and he remembered the last time they had met with piercing clearness. There was no hope, no chance left.

 

“I am not your love,” he gritted out. His voice was rough from disuse and sounded foreign even to himself. “He is gone. He is dead.”

 

“He is still here,” Thranduil whispered. “He is the man who fought the influence of the Enemy and gave up the darkness. He is the man who was never fully consumed by it and never will be. He is the man whom I found, the one I have longed for all my life. He is you, Bard, and I am so sorry for what I brought upon you. I am more then equally guilty for all that has happened. Please, let me make it up to you. Let me heal you!”

 

“How could you ever heal me,” is all he managed to reply, even if there were so many things he wanted to say.

 

“I don’t know. But I would try, if you would allow me,” Thranduil crouched in front of him. “There is a path opened now to us. We can go to the undying lands where there is no sickness nor sorrow. Would you come with me? It would bring you peace.”

 

“I could never be accepted there. I don’t deserve to go there! I don’t deserve anything, least of all your love!”

 

Thranduil’s hands were suddenly on both sides of his head and he was tilting his head up. The creature that once was Bard tried to cringe away but to their mutual surprise the touch did not hurt either of them.

 

“It is I, who doesn’t deserve you,” Thranduil said and somehow Bard knew he was crying. “Please, let me heal you! Let me try to make things right and earn back the right to be with you.”

 

“I don’t understand you,” Bard heard himself chuckle, a sound foreign and strange. Had it really come from him? But the more Thranduil held him, the more the light seemed to penetrate the shadows around him.

 

Perhaps there was still hope for him. For them, he amended when the Elven King’s lips brushed his own and instead of burning it felt like the coolness of salve applied to a ranging wound.

 

“Will you come with me?” Thranduil asked and his breath smelled like grass and all the living things that Bard had somehow forgotten.

 

“I will follow you anywhere, my King,” Bard said, leaning his forehead on Thranduil's.

 

It is said that after Thranduil returned to him, Bard recovered quickly and well enough that he could embark on the long journey to the West and on one autumn day, they sailed away together and were never seen again on Middle Earth.

  
**The end**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading until the end! I really hope you enjoyed the story! 
> 
> And if you need to lighten the mood, put on Florence + the Machine - “Spectrum (Say my name)” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O4-6Y_91v5I) and read the credits:  
> illustrated by Nisie (nisiedrawsstuff.tumblr.com/)  
> beta reading by Meg (thrandueils.tumblr.com/)  
> for the Barduil Big Bang (barduilbang.tumblr.com)  
> if you want more barduil stuff selected by me, check out my barduil side blog (barduilrecs.tumblr.com) 
> 
> Thank you again for reading and let me know what you think :D


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